


12 Steps Wayward

by bonelines, howlscastle



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hannibal and Will are both young, Jealousy, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Rehabilitation, Sex Addiction, Slow Burn, Some angst, Violent Thoughts, about university age, mentions of cannibalism, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-07-22 12:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7439296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonelines/pseuds/bonelines, https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlscastle/pseuds/howlscastle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“My name is Will Graham and I’m addicted to sex.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Someone in the circle of trust snorts and the sound is quickly followed by shuffling around and a feigned cough to cover it. Will doesn’t look towards the source of it, lifting blue eyes towards the ceiling instead with a long and tired sigh— exasperated. This is his fourth group home now. It’s always the same.</i><br/> </p><p>AU where Will and Hannibal, both young and at the age where most would be attending university, meet while staying in a rehabilitation facility. They're both there for different reasons. Will, who has been struggling with his sex addiction, immediately begins lusting after Hannibal, who is recovering from a drug addiction that caused him to have to drop out of med school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **This work wasn't beta-read, just edited by us, so all mistakes are our own.**   
>  **Inspired by two gifsets (you can click[here](http://weardes.tumblr.com/post/145359689072) and [here](http://weardes.tumblr.com/post/145359859642) to view,) the story deals with various addictions and substance abuse, so read at your own discretion. Both Hannibal and Will are still very much themselves at the core of their characters and Hannibal has not killed yet in this story, but he struggles with the desire to. There will be violence in later chapters. That being said, more tags will be added as we go as to avoid spoilers.**   
>  **This story will be longer-standing and will be updated bi-weekly, every other Saturday.**   
>  **We hope you enjoy reading!**

“My name is Will Graham and I’m addicted to sex.”

Someone in the circle of trust snorts and the sound is quickly followed by shuffling around and a feigned cough to cover it. Will doesn’t look towards the source of it, lifting blue eyes towards the ceiling instead with a long and tired sigh— exasperated. It’s always the same.

This is his fourth group home now. It’s the fourth time he’s tried to cleanse himself of this problem that he can’t seem to shake from his shoulders. It’s not the first time that very same  _ problem _ hasn’t been taken seriously by those around him - those here that are solely in rehabilitation for things more relating to drug, or drink.

Will understands. His own vice often goes hand-in-hand with the consumption of alcohol and various drug use, if only to try and keep his mind numbed and straying elsewhere. Somewhere different. Somewhere fun.

It’s never any fun.

And as much as Will toys around with those things, it’s not any of them that controls him— it’s sex. 

The physical touch of somebody else other than himself. The weight of another body against his own. Heavy breathing, flushed skin, pupils dilated, and mouth parted on a satisfied moan - sex.  _ That _ is what ultimately controls Will and motivates every action he takes. To-date, it has caused nearly every problem in his life and has placed him into rehab facilities time and time again, but a solution has never been found.

And Will understand the core of his issues well. Fear of abandonment, low self-esteem, and the need to feel accepted drives him into the arms of another and, while he knows that sleeping around has yet to solve any of those things, he still cannot deny his need for a quick fix.

So, yes, as silly as it might sound to those who struggle with something more tangible, Will’s addiction is still exactly that— an addition.

From her chair, the group discussion leader gives a sharp, “ _Shh_ ,” in the direction of whoever had laughed under their breath, before she directs her attention back to Will. She expects him to say more now, he’s sure. That’s the point of these meetings - they are all supposed to be able to talk openly and without judgement here. 

Will is new to this place in particular, but the past three that came before it had proven that judgement is unavoidable, regardless of where you go. That’s now why he had left them, however. No, Will had actually thought that he’d gotten better all three of those times, when really, afterwards, he had gone all of a week at the most, before he had been back to taking a new partner to bed every night for a quick fuck.

Three failed attempts. He’s decided this is his last try.

Will holds the group leader’s gaze for a brief second, before shrugging his shoulders with a small shake of his head, messy hair that rests just below the nape of his neck in length falling in a dark brown against his pale skin. He reaches up to push a few loose, wavy strands back and away from his eyes, wondering what else he could possibly give to explain himself further.

“That’s it. I like fucking—  _ a lot _ . Too much. More than most. So I do it all the time,” Will continues, a grin forming on his lips as he can see her growing frustrated with him and perhaps a little uncomfortable. In fact, a couple people in the group shift in their seats as they pray for Will to stop talking. Will gives a blunt snort of his own past flared nostrils, before adding, “I mean, Christ, I barely make time for anything else.”

The group leader nods awkwardly and clears her throat, a couple other snickers sounding around the circle of those seated, before she silences Will by turning to someone else and prompting them to speak up.

Will knows that he ought to stop approaching everything so aggressively and he’d probably have a better time discussing things. He can’t help himself. It’s so much easier to slip himself into the mask of cold, unfeeling, disconnect. It’s fun to watch those around him scramble to pick up the messes he makes.

Crossing slim arms over his chest, Will sits down once again and leans back against the headrest of his chair with a tired sigh, letting his eyes to train over to the next person that’s addressed.

He’s seated a few chairs down and off to Will’s left. Striking, chiseled features that make his eyes appear like twin graves in the cradle of sharp cheekbones, the man appears to be about the same age as Will - probably around the age that most would be starting university. Messy hair is straight and dark, but ashen in its color. It falls just above his eyes, covers his ears and just barely skims the tops of strong shoulders. He's not as unkempt as Will is, but he certainly looks weathered.

He might as well have a giant red target painted over him.

He’s handsome. Will wants him.

“My name is Hannibal Lecter and I’m a herion addict.” Hannibal’s voice is low and smooth when he speaks up. It’s laced with a thick, exotic accent that Will can’t quite place.

And all the same, Hannibal is more than aware of the other boy’s staring. He’s met people just like Will before and knows very well that they are often more trouble than they’re worth. 

When Hannibal had still been in med school - long before the addiction had taken hold and he’d thrown it all away in favor of the next hit - he had had a lover who, in the end, left to chase  _ his _ next hit as well. It had been a constant cycle of him leaving Hannibal for someone else, only to come crawling back again, looking for forgiveness. 

It had been a forgiveness always granted— a cycle repeated, ad infinitum, until Hannibal had found something much more interesting than love. Something much more loyal.

Opium. 

It had started with prescription pills, but it hadn't taken long for Hannibal to dabble into heavier things.  Opium hits nearly all the same centers of the brain as happiness - as well as love, by consequence.  How terribly convenient for him .

So, although Will is all wide-blue eyes, dark curls, soft skin, and filthy words - sin dressed as an angel - Hannibal is having none of it. He nods towards the room once, confident in both action and tone when he continues. 

“Three weeks sober.” 

Many heads nod back, as if offering some kind of vague approval, or some sort of understanding. Hannibal is having none of that either. Not only because he cares little-to-nothing of their opinions, but also because he is still very much in the midst of the hard-yards. Whilst the first two weeks of withdrawal are always the worst, the next two aren’t much better. He’d read about it in textbooks, of course. But now that he’s living it, he’s been made aware of how words often fail to do waking life justice.

Which, in turn, only leads to more nagging concerns about Hannibal’s other rather nasty, and much more secretive penchant for darkness. Its hunger is one that aches sharper than any other. Should he ever allow himself to succumb to that, would he be able to return?

“Hm?” Hannibal is suddenly brought back to attention when he’s invited to sit back down by the group leader. Quietly, he lowers himself slowly and leans back, one long leg crossing over the other as he loops his entwined hands over his knees. 

Once settled in his still, almost marble-like pose, Hannibal finally grants the eager young male, Will, the courtesy of a glance. It’s a dark, predatory, amber gaze and it’s flecked with blood and devoid of feeling.

Will meets it directly, without any falter in his own.

Typically, he avoids eye-contact whenever he can. Will dislikes the distraction and the possibility of someone seeing too much - peeking too far behind the curtain. However, sometimes eyes are able to convey things that words can’t and, in this moment, staring back towards Hannibal Lecter with a fire burning in his eyes, Will tries to do exactly that. An invitation to dance.    
  
Expression flat as to not give anything away to the rest of those around him, Will raises one brow and, with mouth pressed into a tight line, he brings one corner up to curve subtly. And almost-smirk.

It’s coy and secretive - something only shared briefly between the two of them. A silent, ‘ _ want to play _ ?’

And even though Hannibal comes off as though he has no interest, turning away without much acknowledgment, Will is still not deterred. He's fully prepared to make himself into an absolute pest, knowing what he wants and being the type to immediately go after it. And yes, Will is very aware that he’s here to try and get better, but he can’t help it if Hannibal had practically been gift wrapped and laid out for the taking.

“— _ Okay. We’ll meet up here again, this time tomorrow _ .” The group leader’s voice is followed by the sound of people standing and collecting themselves. They’re dismissed.

Will sees his chance and moves quickly from there, legs unwinding and bringing him to stand, watching as Hannibal lifts himself from his chair and moves to leave the room. Will is quick to follow, trailing behind on quick paces.

“Hey, wait a second,” he calls finally, rabid footfalls carrying him to catch up and placing him beside Hannibal, walking in-time with his steps. “You looked at me. When I was looking at you, just then, I mean. So, I was gonna ask… if you wanted some company. Do you?”

Before Hannibal has much time to answer, Will pivots on his heels and takes a quick stride to round himself in front of the other, facing him, so that Hannibal nearly bumps into Will, before finally coming to a halt. Will catches his breath, heart-shaped lips parted as one hand comes up to push messy, dark hair away from his face as his eyes study Hannibal, whose so close now that Will can nearly feel his body heat.

A swallow, tongue licking over his own lips as Will rakes his gaze once up and down the length of Hannibal’s gaze, before training back onto his features with a playful smirk.

“So? Your room, or mine?”

Hannibal can’t deny the allure of the boy in front of him. Even Will’s scent leaves Hannibal nearly swaying with his want. He sighs and slides his hands into his pockets, settling his bulky shoulders in place as he levels a hooded gaze towards the other.

“Since I would presume you are eyeing me up for nothing more than a raw fucking, I would have to ask: wouldn’t that contraindicate your treatment here, hm?” Although not yet a doctor, Hannibal carries the gravitas and cool that comes with a professional bedside manner, just the same as any doctor might muster.

“Right… my  _ treatment _ ,” Will answers, tasting the word on his tongue. After all this time and all this trying to help himself, the word, ‘treatment,’ is one that still misses its definition. There is one thing that Will is definitely sure of and that’s that receiving a raw fucking from Hannibal sounds nothing short of absolutely exquisite.

Hannibal’s gaze drops to study the space between them and he too can feel the electric currents passing through the warmth there. Ever-so-slowly, he raises his hand to gracefully trace through the heat. It’s meant to tease and nothing more— to be close enough to touch Will, but decidedly not doing so. 

Instantly, Will freezes and draws in a quick pull of air through his nostrils as he waits for the touch to connect. It never does. 

Hannibal sets his hand to rest, instead, on his own belt, thumb hooking over the buckle and the metal ‘ _ clink _ ’ echoes of it into the space between them. Another tease. His gaze slowly traces up the line of Will’s frame, shamelessly drinking in the sight of him until Hannibal’s lust-blown eyes come to settle on the curve of the other’s plump lower lip. Hannibal’s voice gives nothing away when he speaks again.

“Coffee.” It isn’t a question. 

With that, Hannibal turns and heads down the hall in the opposite direction, having no doubt that Will would fall into step. Long legs carry Hannibal with a classical swagger, impossibly broad shoulders set over a tapered waist and loose knees.

Will watches for a moment without moving. He can think of quite a few things he wants to do with Hannibal and none of them include grabbing a cup of coffee, but he will play along for now, if that’s what it takes. Will also knows that it’s predictable enough that he would follow and, though he has a love for the element of surprise and mystery, Will can’t deny his nature. His ego is easily trumped by his desire to have Hannibal between his thighs - preferably, sooner, rather than later. 

Boots squeaking once against the cold floor beneath him, Will sends himself to quickly follow after the other boy

Casually, Hannibal rolls the doors at the end of the hallway open with a nudge of his shoulder and strolls into the cafeteria, over to where there is a small coffee machine and an array of frayed sofas. He switches the machine on and pours two cups. 

“Cream, Will?” he purrs in the lowest sultry tone he can muster, peering back over his broad shoulder to catch the other boy’s gaze as he catches up and comes to stand nearby.

All of this is a test, of course, but whether or not Will catches on, is yet to be seen. Hannibal is not about to be a  _ fuck-and-chuck _ . If Will can last the distance, then he might stand a shot of… surviving. 

“Uh— yeah, cream is good.” 

Truthfully, Will wants to toss both of the cups to the side and demand that Hannibal stop acting as though Will hadn’t just suggested that they sleep together. He’s desperate, but he’s not quite that desperate. Not yet, anyway. 

Will is able to stay patient as both coffees are prepared and the air around them goes quiet. He watches as the other boy keeps his own coffee black and then sets to prepare Will’s by pouring in the cream and then taking the nearby spoon between long fingers, stirring the hot drink into a light chestnut color. Perfectly to Will’s liking.

Will only lifts his gaze then, when the coffee is offered over to him, both boys’ eyes meeting in the middle as he takes the cup from Hannibal in the cradle of grateful hands. Their fingers brush with the transfer and it draws forth sharp chills that rake up the length of Will’s spine.

_ God _ . He’s fairly certain that he might explode if this doesn’t end with them fucking in either one of their rooms.

The moment is oddly relaxed and almost intimate for how simple all of it is and for how vehemently Will wants to ruin the sanctity of it by demanding more. He wonders if Hannibal is maybe the type who prefers to get to know somebody, before he fools around with them. Will isn’t usually the type to care much about getting to know those he sleeps with. What’s the point, anyway? If they were just fucking, then dipping down past the surface would just be edging far too close to something emotional.

Will can’t help but wonder if Hannibal is the type to sleep around  _ at all _ \- maybe he’s with someone already. A boyfriend?  _ A girlfriend _ ?

Will ponders on it as they make their way over to one of the couches and he makes the very obvious effort of sitting close to Hannibal, the sides of their thighs brushing from where they sit side-by-side against the cushions.

“You’re not gonna fuck me… are you?” Will finally breaks the silence after taking a sip from his coffee and running a pink tongue over the curve of his own lips. He casts Hannibal a smooth sidelong glance and arches a brow expectantly. 

A pointless question, really. Even if Will is denied now, it won’t make him any less determined.

Hannibal refrains from comment on their rather claustrophobic proximity - as if somehow Will placing himself in Hannibal’s lap would make the task of getting inside his pants any easier. He leans back against the sofa then, holding his cup aloft as he crosses one long leg over the other, seemingly unfazed that his foot and calf brush against the length of Will’s leg. A smirk teases at Hannibal’s full lips, the cup brought up to meet them as he answers in low tones— it’s only enough for them both to hear. All of it feels almost akin to a secret for just the two of them. 

“It would seem you enjoy  _ talking _ about fucking almost as much as you enjoy the actual fucking itself.” Licks of steam curl around the hard lines of Hannibal’s face, kissing warmth at his lips as he takes another sip and continues with, 

“And no, I won’t be fucking you tonight. If that answer disappoints you, I will not be offended if you choose to leave.” He knows that Will won’t. 

Although virtually vibrating with want, the boy is grounded in place. Hannibal is enjoying the the struggle he can see playing out before him. He wonders idly if Will might simply break down and lunge forward to straddle Hannibal where he sits. He shifts his coffee away from his jeans - just in case.

Disappointed isn’t quite the only word to describe the feelings that possess Will now. 

Desperate and aching - it feels as though something is truly dying inside the pit of his gut, twisting and turning in its mad fit to have what it desires. Will says nothing at first, sitting in a cold and rigid silence as he works to gather himself with a hard swallow and a leveled exhale through his nostrils. It’s obvious that he’s frustration.

It’s been so long since his last fuck. It’s been way too long.

Lifting an elbow to prop against the sofa, Hannibal leans his head on the cradle of his hand, soft amber gaze peering over to openly study the fine features of Will’s face. The boy continues to gaze back with a new level of seriousness, eyes boring into Hannibal now, almost angry. Hannibal notes that this is the longest Will has allowed for their eyes to meet. However, Hannibal’s gaze falls and it’s the plush curve of the boy’s lower lip that is certainly a silken smear of temptation all of its own. Hannibal wets his own lips with a quick swipe of his tongue, catching the way that eyes follow the motion, before he goes back to drinking from his coffee. 

“As you’re still sitting here, I take it you are used to getting what you want,” Hannibal goes on after their pause. “Either that, or your list of past partners isn’t extensive enough to have yet experienced something as simple as a rejection.” 

Will gives a hard blink at that, clearly vexed by how their exchange is going so far.

“I can’t say that I’ve ever really been turned down, no… I’ve had people react apprehensively, sure, but I don’t think I’ve ever been fully rejected.” No - not when it comes to sex. Getting the tension fucked out of him is usually fairly easy for Will. 

His tone is slow and unsure when he continues on, as though expecting Hannibal to say that his answer had been some kind of a joke all along.

“I mean, what would be the reasoning? You get off. I get off… it’s a win-win scenario, really.”

Hannibal follows the logic. That doesn't mean he agrees with it. There are different prizes for every person and this isn’t his prize, but he is amused none the less. He hides any errant expression by lifting the cup to his mouth, his gaze never leaving Will’s. Beauty has its own truths.

Will’s brows stay knitted in a genuine confusion, unsure as to why Hannibal would decline. Even if, logically, it makes sense, seeing someone with such an iron resolve is strange. Even if, morally, Hannibal has a problem with a quick fuck, no strings attached, Will is still usually able to get  _ some _ kind of reaction. He steals a quick glance downwards and notes that Hannibal isn’t even hard.

Will finds himself wondering if maybe the other boy just doesn’t ‘swing that way.’ Or, at least, Will would be able to find some comfort in that, rather than settling this very sudden and sharpened edge of inadequacy he feels in being denied. The words that come next betray the desperation that Will tries so very hard to hide. His voice is just the smallest bit higher in his throat and it catches for a second on a pout— indignant.

“C’mon, I just don’t get it. It’ll feel good and nobody has to know about it.” Will sets his coffee onto the small magazine table in front of the couch they occupy - if only to free his hand to place it, palm down and warm over Hannibal’s jean-clad thigh. 

A grin makes its appearance again when Will ups the ante. The boy’s eyes are hooded and damn-near begging the other, hungry as Will’s hand slips higher and his voice sounds again. Hushed.

“If it’s not usually your thing - if you’ve only ever hooked up with girls - I’ll be quiet. You could fuck me from behind? With the lights off, you wouldn’t even notice a difference.”

Hannibal doesn’t so much as flinch, let alone shift his gaze away, even as Will’s hand continues its slow travel up his thigh, sparks of heat crackling under Hannibal’s skin in answer, throbbing up and through to the tip of his cock. With his elbow still resting on the arm of the sofa, the coffee cup stays perched in his grip, a single finger stroking down the cool porcelain time and time again. 

“Tell me, Will— would that satisfy you? Head down, ass up...  silent, nameless, and faceless in a dark room with me grinding into you from behind? Fucking you to oblivion with my huge cock inside you, hurting you, only to never touch one another again, hm?”

Although he doesn’t gesture to where Will’s hand moves steadily towards his groin, Hannibal is clearly referencing it in words. “Would it feel good to be used that way by me?” 

Will’s reaction to the question is one of dumbfounded silence at first, the hand resting over Hannibal’s lap coming to a quick halt.

As much as Will knows that he should answer, undoubtedly, with a swift ‘no,’ that doesn’t make the image in his brain any less appealing now. The thought of being bent over by Hannibal in the dark privacy of his room, speared open from behind and fucked mercilessly until they both find their release is a delicious one.

“Yes?” Will answers. 

His tone is unsure, soft and hissed as it trails off in an almost-question, knowing that it’s not necessarily the correct answer, or the answer that Hannibal is looking for. Will’s voice is hoarse in his heady lust, licking over his own lips to wet them

Hannibal shifts only to place his cup on the table as well then, before reaching out and curling a finger under Will’s chin, yanking it up to bring their gazes together and draw him in closer. When raising another question, Hannibal’s breath falls warm and tempting over Will’s cheek, before it’s directed down over his lips. 

“Do you honestly believe that a single taste of what I may, or may not have to offer would be enough for you?” Hannibal lets his head tilt to the side, just so, as if he were about to kiss the quivering mess of a boy in front of him. 

And he wants to be kissed— horribly, awfully, terribly so. He makes no effort to hide it, gaze falling to watch Hannibal’s mouth with a curious intent as Will waits silently now to see if the other might seal the deal - impatiently praying that he would.

With his gaze nearly fallen shut, Hannibal’s thumb passes smoothly across Will’s lower lip, glancing the wetness of that ever-so-tempting plump, wet curve, before continuing with, 

“Do I strike you as the kind of man that  _ would _ use such a divine boy as yourself in such a way?”

Without hesitation and giving Will no time to answer, Hannibal tugs down the other’s bottom lip and brings the opposite hand up to close over the front of his throat, before finally pressing their lips together. 

And Will has no question - no qualm with saying that it’s the feeling of Hannibal’s mouth against his own that is truly divine.

Hannibal’s tongue delves in immediately, splitting Will’s mouth open with a low growl while tightening the grip held over the curve of his throat. And Will welcomes the weight of the fingers over his pulse eagerly - practically leans into it as he hungrily devours the taste of Hannibal and the sensation of another’s kiss. 

Hannibal chases down Will’s quick tongue until granted access to give it one long, fluid suck, before drawing back just barely enough to mouth heavy words into their kiss. A final answer.

“No, I won’t be fucking you… tonight.” 

With that, Hannibal slowly releases his hold on the other and returns to his coffee as though nothing at all had just transpired between them.

It’s infuriating. It’s maddening.

It only makes Will want Hannibal all the more vehemently.

Blinking hard and working to make sense of what had just happened, Will keeps exactly where he is - completely still and brows working into a frustrated furrow as he watches Hannibal sip from his coffee with a casual sort of elegance. Somewhere, hidden under the mask that carefully paints his expression into a cool composure, there is a burning in Hannibal’s eyes - even without looking directly towards Will at all anymore. 

Hannibal is entirely pleased with himself. Entertained.

In fact, Will is surprised that Hannibal hasn’t broken out into laughter altogether, much to Will’s expense, what with how the other boy seems to be silently soaking up his incredible ability to tease so well.

“Well,” Will starts, doing nothing to hide the bitter shade of chagrin in his tone. “Fine then. If you happen to change your mind, my room is 16B. On the second floor.”

A sigh huffed out and a thick swallow, Will removes his hand from the other boy’s lap and shifts to stand up from the couch, brushing himself off. Coffee plucked up from the table and a quick glance of feigned distaste thrown in the other’s direction over the bow of Will’s shoulder, he slips out of their closeness and makes to leave the cafeteria completely. However, it’s not before he has one final say, the ghost of his smirk returning when he speaks.

“And maybe you won’t change your mind tonight. But you will.”

_ Soon _ . Will has no doubt. He would do everything in his power to be sure of exactly that.

Before Hannibal can say any more, Will lets those words hang and exits the room, his boots squeaking over shiny, white floors as he pushes through the exit doors and into the rest of the building. 

Tonight, he would surely burn away in his room, alone, yearning for the heat of Hannibal’s touch and the now-familiar taste of his kiss. But tomorrow, Will would try again, his sights already set on the other boy. 

Hannibal would have to be a fool to think that Will would just give up there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Once again, not beta-read. This chapter is a bit longer than the last.**   
>  **Enjoy!**

What little time he hadn’t spent feeling ill, or shaking through his withdrawals until his teeth chattered, Hannibal had spent thinking about his interaction with Will. Unethical. Unhealthy. Filthy. Wrong. Debauched. Enabling. Divine.

And entirely welcomed.

The war within Hannibal’s mind had continued to rage on as the taste of their kiss lingered on his lips. But as much as now he aches for the boy - for his lips and his quick, needy hands - Hannibal is not prepared to become another notch on another list. He’d been there, done that plenty of times before. It simply isn’t an option.

Aside from that, Hannibal prefers to keep to himself whenever possible.

Something about Will tugs at a need from within Hannibal to join in and play this game that had been started between the two of them. It’s a coy sort of wickedness that wants nothing more than to coax Hannibal out of his shell - to drop the mask he wears just enough to revel in the wrongness of it all.

And so, there is also the pesky matter of Hannibal’s own darkness coming out to play, but his gut churns with nausea and anxiety at the mere thought of it. It’s very unlikely that Hannibal’s control over his inner demons would falter - no matter how Will teased at it.

_Right?_

The next group meeting goes as expected. More confessions. More affirmations. More very coy glances towards Hannibal from a very coy boy.

Will sits in the same place that he had the last time they’d been in this setting - a few seats down the circle. A distance is kept between them, but not so much as to make it impossible to catch the way in which the boy’s gaze is unrelenting. Studying. Dissecting. Completely enamored.

When the group leader's voice chimes in again and interrupts both their trains of though, her words hang like landmines in the air.

“We’ll be practicing a peer support system. Everyone choose a partner.”

Something like that of a sponsor, but rather, someone to lean on when the urge to break edge gets too hard to handle. Someone to talk you away from blowing sobriety. And, in turn, someone to also lean on you.

A nice concept if your partner’s vice doesn’t happen to involve wanting to sleep with you.

Will sees his opening immediately and Hannibal doesn’t need to look up to know exactly who brown, worn boots belong to when they come to stand in front of him. Will doesn’t say anything at first, but rather, stays exactly as he is, arms crossed over his chest.

Hannibal’s gaze slowly trains up to meet sky-blue and is none-too-surprised to find them already thoroughly lust-blown. When Hannibal is the first to speak, his voice is calm and cool, but questioning.

“Do you really suppose this is a wise idea, Will?”

Blinking hard once and staring down towards the other boy with lips pressed into a tight line, Will simply shrugs the bow of one shoulder and lets a lopsided smirk spread over his heart-shaped mouth. Of course he knows that choosing Hannibal as a partner would be anything but a wise choice, but Will’s fixation wouldn’t allow him to choose anyone else.

No one else is nearly as interesting. No one else is Hannibal.

“Probably not,” Will answers flippantly, an air of humor in his tone. He’s made enough poor decisions to last him a lifetime. So, he has to wonder - what’s one more?

The seat beside Hannibal opens up as people shift around the circle to place themselves near their chosen partners. Will is quick to occupy it, brushing hands down the front of his shirt first as if to right himself with a comfortable sigh. 

Will continues with, “But everyone’s already paired off now, so I guess you’re stuck with me.”

With that, Will runs a wet tongue over the curve of his own mouth and casts a grin in Hannibal’s direction, saying nothing more as the group leader instructs them to all ‘ _get to know one another._ ’ Around the room, the white noise of everyone beginning to speak amongst themselves rises and it’s then that Will turns to sit sideways in his seat, facing Hannibal and leaning one forearm against the back of the chair for support.

“So. Hannibal,” Will starts. The name is sweet on his tongue. “What were all _your_ hopes, dreams, and aspirations, before you ended up here instead?”

Hannibal sighs and turns his head to take in the sight of the lazily-poised vexation beside him that is Will Graham. Waiting a beat, Hannibal watches the dart of that wicked, pink tongue, before his spine rights with a new purpose.

“My hopes and dreams…” he muses almost to himself as he leans a bit closer to Will, as if about to share a great secret. Their body postures are almost mirror images when Hannibal goes on.  
  
“My hopes and dreams centered on a life as a doctor and sharing that life with my ex-partner. He was a beautiful boy,” Hannibal says, “my age, but had an air of darkling innocence to him. Much like you, I suppose. All wide blue eyes, perfect skin, dark hair, and sinful lips that I could kiss for days and days.” The words are left to hover in the air as a terribly warm smile lifts Hannibal’s alpine features.

Meanwhile, it’s obvious that he’s grabbed Will’s attention - his expression falling to something a little more serious, nearing close to the edge of horribly intrigued. Will is listening intently.  
  
“But he was insatiable and made me insatiable in turn.” Hannibal’s rumbling sigh verges on the dramatic as he palms down the hard curve of his left thigh, before continuing with, “I would spend hours between his legs, worshiping him with my tongue, until I knew every inch of his tight, pink hole.”

With that, Hannibal swipes his tongue over his lower lip, leaving the curve of it glistening in the low light of the meeting room. His voice is low enough so that only Will can hear, but the words that are spoken slap hard enough to leave a heavy flush on the boy’s face.

And now, Hannibal _really_ has Will’s interests - it’s obvious in the way his eyebrows knit closer together into a furrow and the way he is practically squirming in his chair to hear more.

Hannibal gives exactly that.  
  
He leans back and scratches a large hand over the thew of his chest, before, “I would slam him hard up against walls, or bend him over couches, beds, car bonnets - wherever, really - taking him brutally whether at home, or in public,” Hannibal purrs, before, “I loved the way he squirmed and trembled for me. I can still see the trails of claiming bites I left all over his shoulders as the hard, fat girth of my cock speared and ruined him, until he was nothing but a quivering mess in the cage of my strong arms.

“But sometimes... just sometimes,” it drops even further, down to a whisper as he beckons Will a bit closer.

There’s a brief pause when the boy leans more into the space between the two chairs they occupy. Will is close enough now that he can feel the heat that radiates out from Hannibal’s body as he continues with,

“... sometimes, I wouldn’t stop there. The sight of him undone and prone like that? I couldn’t resist sliding my cock back into that slippery heat,” Hannibal smirks, and then, “He always screamed beautifully. Begging and begging, but never for me to stop... I’m hard, just thinking about it now.”  
  
Pointedly then, one of Hannibal’s hands move to adjust the front of his jeans, shifting in his chair as one long leg slides to cross over the other. He lets his free hand reach over and stroke down the bare flesh of Will’s forearm, where the boy sits close by. The touch elicits goosebumps in its wake.

All of it is so blatantly filthy, but still held like a well-kept secret between the two of them. It’s theatrical - on Hannibal’s end, anyway - but only because he knows he will get a rise out of the other boy for it.

And, oh, does it ever work.

Will stays as he is, jaw dropped and speechless now in his shock for all that has been shared, without any kind of shame or hesitation from Hannibal. Eyes are glued onto him, wide and raking hungrily over Hannibal’s body to watch the way he adjusts himself. Will doesn’t try to hide the fact that he is very vividly imagining all of the actions listed prior - imagining them being done to himself. He can’t help the twinge of jealousy he feels towards the other’s aforementioned ex-boyfriend, while also knowing that it’s exactly the reaction Hannibal had hoped for.

Everything settles over them for another short pause, the air around them sharpened now with an edge of hunger. Hannibal continues again, and his tone is no longer dripping with a hushed, or wicked shade of lust, but rather, falling into a simple matter-of-factness,

“So, I suppose my hopes and dreams lay with him. But as his sex addiction got out of hand and his cheating escalated, I turned to drugs. Opiates, mainly. I lost him and my career in medicine. Which brings me here, with you.” Hannibal lets his head tilt to the side, towards his shoulder, throwing a side-glance up towards Will that verges on coy.

“ _Christ_ …” Will hisses out under his breath, unsettled by the truth of Hannibal’s past, and now painfully aroused on top of it. Blinking hard, Will tries to reconnect all the loose wires in his brain.

Hannibal gives an almost-smile - pleased with himself. He then raises a question of his own.

“It’s almost poetic, really. Tell me, Will, what do you dream about when you’re alone, in your room, at night, warm in your bed?”

“I—“ Will struggles, stumbling over his words for another moment as he swallows thickly and shifts to cross one of his own legs over the other in the effort to hide his raging erection.

Painfully now, it strains against the back of the zipper on his jeans. He knows that it’s already been made obvious to Hannibal, but Will can still try and retain a sliver of his modesty when it comes to the rest of the group, all distracted with their mingling, at least some distance away. Everyone in the room knows exactly why Will is here. He doesn’t need to give anyone, especially the group leader, a reason to report anything to a higher-up.

Good behavior will get you far in places like this.

Not that Will is more than halfway concerned with that. Especially when all he really cares about right now is sitting in the chair beside his, practically laid out on a silver platter.

“I dream about sex,” Will says finally, his voice quiet and eyes glued on Hannibal. “Last night, I dreamt about sex with you, in particular. It felt so real… you felt so good. From the sounds of it, your ex had no complaints, so the dream couldn’t have been too far off.”

It’s all Will gives. Nothing about his life, or the deeper things he ponders when he’s alone. Nothing about his mother, or his father, or his childhood. Nothing about the way he’d moved around from home to home consistently, until nothing really felt like home anymore.

The brief flicker of unease that Will feels upon thinking the question over only makes him want to cover it up by redoubling his efforts in seducing the other boy.

Teeth digging into his lower lip, Will reaches out and mirrors Hannibal’s previous action by brushing fingertips over the back of his nearest forearm, gliding downwards to trace over the bones lining the top of Hannibal’s hand. Gaze is hooded and lowered to Hannibal’s mouth in remembrance of their kiss from yesterday when Will inches forward, still seated sideways on his chair as to stay facing the other.

“If your intention was to get me all hot and bothered, you’ve succeeded.” Will huffs out a shaky sigh, and then, “ _You’re_ hard… _I’m_ hard. I don’t see the harm in letting this whole support-buddy-system thing benefit the both of us in more ways than one, if you catch my drift.”

Under Will’s tender fingers, Hannibal smiles softly and flexes his hand, the delicate touch sending a barely-there chill across his skin and down his spine.

“Oh, I have a great many intentions, Will. Being the cause of your throbbing erection now and your wet dreams last night at the very least, not to mention that beautiful shade of blush.”  
  
Hannibal turns his arm over and drags his fingertips along the underside of Will’s arm, noting the way his breath catches when fingers flicker just enough to waver the touch back and forth. Voice is smooth when Hannibal continues on,

“But being overwhelmed with the thought of my rock-hard erection impaling you is still no reason to evade the question. Unless, of course, you have no interest in knowing me beyond the surface? Or perhaps you have no intention of getting better while you're here?” Hannibal arches a brow, before, “Other than having sex with me, what is it you think about… late at night, when you are alone?”

Lust only doubled when more filth falls from the curl of Hannibal’s tongue, Will still feels an uncomfortable wrench in his gut when the question at the end pries further.

Opening his mouth to speak, Will is promptly interrupted by the sound of the group leader giving instruction above the white noise of the room.

“Now that you’ve all had a chance to introduce yourselves to one another - how about a trust exercise?” Her words trail upward in a questioning tone, but it’s obvious that the trust exercise would be mandatory.

Will’s gaze trains over Hannibal’s shoulder to watch the group leader as she instructs them all to stand up for the standard ‘Trust Fall.’ A small feeling of dread fills the pit of Will’s stomach, but it’s fanned down in the relief for having been interrupted, before Hannibal could pry further.

And this would mean some sort of physical closeness— Will isn’t arguing with that.

Standing, he brushes down the fronts of his jeans, thankful for his waning erection, before he allows for his eyes to trail back towards Hannibal’s, brow lifting.

“You wanna catch me first?” Will makes no effort to hide how eager he is to feel more of Hannibal’s touch, regardless of context - it’s written all over the boy’s face.

Hannibal unfolds himself from where he sits, his own erection hidden well enough, for now. Only truly prying eyes would be able to catch any trace of it being there. Though he trusts there would most definitely be _some_ prying eyes.

He turns his gaze up to meet Will’s, crooking a long finger to urge him close enough for the first fall - a mere few inches from Hannibal’s own body.

“Oh, I would like nothing more than to get my hands on you… You’ll have to excuse me if they wander.” The words are offered as casually as if he were talking over a Sunday lunch. “Are you sure you are ready for me, Will?”

Had it been any other time - and, really, had it been _anyone_ else - Will would have known the answer to be undoubtedly yes. In fact, he’s quite sure that if Hannibal were to offer to take Will right then and there, he would have no arguments. However, something about Hannibal’s confidence and the smooth calmness in his tone now still manages to leave behind the seed of unease.

But there really isn’t any time for Will to answer as the group leader starts them off on the exercise. Right on cue, bodies begin toppling and catching one another around the room.

Hannibal widens his stance and sets his broad shoulders back as he presents his hands, splayed, in a show of trust. But his gaze is anything but trustworthy, all ill-intent shining clearly for Will to see.

Eyes combing over the length of Hannibal’s form, Will sizes the other up for a second, before he manages to brush off any of his own nervousness. Besides, the possibility of Hannibal’s hands wandering isn’t exactly one that sounds unpleasant. Really, Will should feel grateful for the trust exercise presenting itself to him in such a way.

Letting a corner of his mouth turn up on a small smirk, he pivots on his heels to turn away from Hannibal, before Will directs an answer from over the curve of his shoulder.

“Just as long as you don’t drop me.” It’s thick with a playful sort of sarcasm, before Will lets himself fall backwards.

Gravity pulls him towards Hannibal’s outstretched arms, relying only on trust that he would catch Will before he actually hit the floor. And it certainly isn’t trust that catches Will in the end, but rather two large hands that wrap neatly around his waist, just above his hips. Those hands are sure to waste no time in dragging the hem of Will’s shirt up just the slightest when he’s tugged a bit further against the hard wall of Hannibal’s chest.

It’s then that Hannibal leans down and murmurs hotly over Will’s ear, a lone finger tracing the bare flesh just along the curve of his hip and towards his navel.

“Answer my question, or next time I won’t catch you.”

It all moves too fast for Will to fully react, chills digging their sharp claws up the length of his back, stark in contrast against the heat that pools back in the pit of his stomach. Just when Will’s erection had nearly diminished, it makes a stubborn reappearance when hands wander their way over his body and breath pets, warm against his ear to trail down the curve of his neck.

Will hardly registers the words, too focused on stifling the raw sound of want that threatens to rise up from his throat. When it hits him, however, the threat elicits an indignant sort of frustration all its own.

Casting another look over his shoulder, the line of his jaw just-barely grazing over Hannibal’s to catch him in a sidelong glance, Will’s expression is a cross between that of hooded lust and an angry pout.

“Fine. If you want an answer so bad, I’ll give you one,” he huffs, before pulling himself away from Hannibal and putting a short distance between them, turning so that they’re facing one another again.

Hannibal is only slightly taller and more built, but not so much as to make it so Will couldn’t catch him. Will would be able to catch Hannibal just fine, but the previous threat is quickly making the idea of dropping him sound better and better.

Keeping feet just apart enough to steady himself, Will holds his arms out just the same as Hannibal had, before, “But, that said, what makes you so sure that _I’ll_ catch _you_?”

Hannibal turns, back facing towards Will while ignoring the question entirely, before dropping into an instant fall. Hannibal even adds a little push to ensure he would land hard against Will’s chest. It causes him to nearly stumble back with the impact, but Will manages to keep his footing upon catching the other.

Hannibal immediately turned his face to nuzzle the side of Will’s jaw.

“What has you running from my questions?” Hannibal’s tone is an almost-purr. “Me? Or the dark truths squirming in your gut?”

Hands steady against either side of Hannibal’s waist, fingers skimming just over his hips, Will keeps his touch hovering as it is, a flush painting itself over his features. The urge to turn his face and press his mouth against Hannibal’s is strong, burning hot under the surface of Will’s skin, but defiant irritation stops him by taking the forefront.

“I’m not running from anything,” Will counters defensively, the bridge of his nose wrinkling slightly.

The hands against Hannibal’s sides slip up and under, mapping out the lines of strong, winding muscle that covers his back as he’s pushed to stand straight again, a groan hitching in Will’s throat with the effort.

Once they’re, again, turned to face one another, Will crosses his arms over his own chest and gives Hannibal his long-awaited answer.

“Boat motors,” Will begins, his expression going stoic and cold. “Sometimes I think about boat motors. Or the hot Louisiana sun. Or what it might have been like if I didn’t end up in places like this.”

He says nothing else and prays that it might be enough, eyes boring into Hannibal’s for a long while, before they drop away and Will finally turns around to start the exercise over again.

Each fall is fractionally larger, as ordered by the group leader. And so, steadying himself a little further away than he had the first time, Will gives the other boy a minute to prepare, before letting himself fall backwards in the hopes that Hannibal would catch him.

This time, once caught by Hannibal’s waiting arms, a step is taken to pull Will back - enough to draw him into an slight embrace. Hannibal’s hands are firm at either of the other’s flanks as his chin comes to graze the crest of Will’s skull and through his mess of loose curls, inhaling sharply.

“Thank you,” Hannibal murmurs into Will’s hair, cradling him in a steady hold.

Will swallows thickly and says nothing at first, leaning just enough to allow his head to fall into the crook of the other boy’s shoulder, while reaching up and back to glance fingers behind Hannibal’s neck. A gesture that seeks out reassurance— Will doesn’t even mean for it, but subconsciously seeks it out. He isn’t let down and he doesn’t hit the floor this time, just the same as the last.

Warm and smooth in his ear while helping Will stand upright, Hannibal hums, “ _That_ is the kind of naked I could fall in love with,” before he stepping back and letting the cool air take his place.

After, it goes quiet between them.

Turning slowly, Will’s eyes train up in confusion to search Hannibal’s expression for a brief pause, as though trying to make sense of the exchange. The weight that comes with what had been said is something that churns a strange warmth within Will’s chest and it isn’t completely unpleasant.

It’s heavy. It’s scary. It’s also terribly exciting.

He half expects to find some sort of indication that Hannibal had been playing a cruel joke, but is only greeted with a smooth, easy expression mirrored back. It’s some semblance of kindness and, oh, does it ever make Will feel naked, just as described.

Will has had plenty of fuck-buddies. That’s it. Nothing ever beyond that because he’s never felt the need to look for it. Aside from his frequent sexual encounters, he prefers to keep to himself and, really, Will knows that he isn’t exactly relationship material anyway.

Even though he knows it’s all out of playful fun, he can’t help the embarrassed flush that stays glued over the planes of his face anyway. Shifting on his feet, Will conjures up a response.

“Yeah, well… you haven’t actually seen me with my clothes off yet. I think you’d find that a lot more interesting.” Pulling a smirk, he reaches out with palms facing up towards the ceiling - an invitation for Hannibal to fall into Will’s awaiting arms again.

The new shade of blush Will wears now is not lost on Hannibal. Turning with a lazy spin of his heel, he falls gracefully into the other boy’s arms. A huff is exhaled beyond flared nostrils and Will’s hold stays true - does not falter.

Hannibal tilts his chin up to shoot Will a glance while answering easily, their faces within kissing distance now, if either desired to risk it.

“I’ll be the judge of what I find interesting about you.” Hannibal says. “However I decide to strip you down, I am sure it will be fitting to my taste.”

Shifting the blades of his shoulders from where they lean against the frame of Will’s chest - Hannibal can see himself growing accustomed to the feel of their bodies together.

The motion draws Will’s gaze downward. He angles his jaw so that it barely grazes against Hannibal’s temple, towards his forehead, before Will’s smirk lifts. His tone paints a playful retort, even as the muscles lining his arms strain to be sure that he keeps the other boy’s weight held, just under Hannibal’s arms so that hands skim over his ribs in order to keep him supported.

“Hm,” Will hums lightly under his breath, lips pressed into a tight line, before, “You _like_ giving me something to chase. Almost as much as I like chasing.”

With that, his hands slip under and around, gently playing over each of Hannibal’s ribs that stay tucked under hard muscle, like piano keys. Will doesn’t kiss the other boy— not here. As much as he’d love to cover Hannibal’s mouth with his own, Will also doesn’t want to give the group leader any reason to think that they shouldn’t be paired up together.

Another soft grunt under his breath and Will gives a tiny push to haul Hannibal back to his feet with a grin.

“Ah,” Hannibal chimes, rising back to stand with ease, before taking a step back, the next fall being a larger one. “So, you admit that it’s the chase you crave.”   
  
It had been much of the same with Hannibal’s ex - he understands it well enough. A large part of the hit had always come from the chasing. Sometimes, even before their sex was through, his former lover would already be thinking about his next hit. Hannibal had seen that vacant expression enough times when they were making love to know.

Will, however, doesn’t answer right away, but gives a small shrug when he does, voice quiet.

“Yeah, I mean… most of the fun comes with the chase.” Will doesn’t even entirely understand it, himself. He feels guilty saying it out loud.

He doesn’t know why he’s wired the way that he is - he just _is_.

Simple. Easy. Animal. There’s nothing complicated about instinct. Well, sort of.

True, there hadn’t been anything complicated before,all the way up until things finally did manage to twist themselves into what they are now and, therefore, placing Will into enough trouble to land him here. Here, among the other places before it.  
  
Leaving it at that, Hannibal spreads his arms wider, features going somber. This drop would be a greater exercise in trust - he would need to cushion Will’s fall with a dip at the end. Peering over his shoulder, Hannibal ensures he has the room to take the necessary step back, if needed.   
  
“Come.” He beckons with a single wave of his hand and a lift of his brow as he turns back to face Will.

Eyeing the greater distance between them skeptically for a moment, Will gives Hannibal a serious look that only lasts all of a second - a look that betrays the nervousness Will feels for being dropped - before he turns away. A deep breath, and he lets himself fall backward again, gravity quickly pulling him down, but not before Will manages to trip over his own feet, the soles of his shoes squeaking against the floor.

“ _Shit_ —“ It’s hissed out - the plunge this time being void of any of Will’s previous grace.

His first reaction is to try and catch himself as his heart falls into his stomach, but it’s a short drop and an awkward angle. The clumsy catch in his footing with the initial free fall would surely only manage to place him just perfectly out of Hannibal’s reach.

Will stumbles over himself and waits for his back to hit the floor, but is surprised when he collides with Hannibal instead. Will’s hands reach out in a scramble to find purchase as shock elicits a gasp, cursing under his breath as the taller boy’s arms shoot out catch him. One of Will’s legs kick back to take the extra weight and help to catch himself, both men dipping to make up for the extra tumble to Will’s fall.

As Will struggles to right himself in the other’s grasp, Hannibal’s hold tightens, arms sliding out to wrap around Will’s chest and pull him back into a firm embrace. Calming. A reminder to _trust._

“Hm. You’ll fuck me but you won’t trust me.” The words are hummed against the shell of Will’s ear, drawing forth chills, but nothing is said in return.  
  
A few seconds pass and Hannibal keeps Will there to savor the closeness, both boys’ breath slowly synchronizing together while strong fingers pet down Will’s sides as he melts into Hannibal’s hold.

Once in harmony, he carefully eases Will to standing.

“Sometimes the sustained states can be as pleasurable as the fleeting.” Hannibal offers, matter-of-factly.

Grounding himself after the shock of the stumble and the unexpected warmth of his brief embrace with Hannibal, Will brushes hands down the front of his own shirt with a small sigh. It’s a relieved sound - relief for having still been in one piece - but there’s a sharpness to it that follows alongside the warmth Will feels in the pit of his stomach now.

“Well,” he begins, a level of good-natured humor crossing his features. “Like I said before, you’re stuck being my ‘sober buddy.’ Hopefully there won’t be anything too _fleeting_ about that.”

Until now, Will has never really understood the purpose of a ‘trust fall.’ He’s always thought it to be a silly way of testing something that has nothing to do with falling - that it couldn’t possibly reflect all the many different layers that come with trust.

Today, however, the exercise makes a little more sense.

Both boys are torn away from their thoughts when the group leader’s voice interrupts to announce the end of the night’s meeting, instructing everyone to exchange phone numbers with their respective partners. Around the room, the sound of people scrawling numbers onto slips of paper, or into one another’s phones hums into a low white noise, all until everyone starts filing out into the hall.

Will throws a quick glance over the line of his shoulder to watch as the crowd clears. It’s Friday night and there aren’t any group discussions held over the weekends— no one would be meeting back in this room until Monday. Which, in turn, would mean that there would be a good chance that Will wouldn’t see Hannibal until Monday, should he decide to make himself scarce.

“Here. C’mere,” Will says upon turning his attention back to Hannibal, motioning him closer while reaching out to wind fingers around his wrist.

“Demanding boy.” Hannibal teases, but he concedes.

Will produces a pen from his pocket and yanks the cap off with his teeth, before proceeding to write his cell number over the palm of Hannibal’s hand, etched in messy, black lines.

The smooth roll the ballpoint and the warm grip of Will’s hand around Hannibal’s wrist sends a quivering chill up his arm and across the span of his chest. Hannibal doesn’t taken his eyes from Will, studying him closely as he focuses on writing. The pinch of worry that pulls at the boy’s brow is a very clear indication of his dread for the weekend to come that would be spent alone.

When finished, Will slips the cap onto the rear end of the pen and hands it over to Hannibal in offering for him to do the same.

When Will’s arm is taken into Hannibal’s grip, a line is traced with the gentle graze of a forefinger from Will’s palm, to elbow, and back again, before Hannibal suddenly clamps his hand hard over Will’s wrist and tugs him closer, pressing ink to skin.

“Should I start counting the minutes between now and when I receive my first filthy text?” Hannibal’s brow arches as he focuses on marking the boy’s flesh.

Goosebumps raise to follow the trail of Hannibal’s touch and the touch of the pen, before Will allows for his eyes to flicker up, studying the other boy’s face within the close proximity and an almost-laugh is huffed out.

“I’m not _that_ predictable,” Will jokes, while knowing it would only be a matter of time before he does, indeed, take advantage of knowing Hannibal’s phone number.

Once the number is left in perfect script against the back of Will’s hand, Hannibal returns the pen and then turns away to scoop up his jacket. Sliding one arm through a sleeve and then the other, he changes the direction of discussion with a question.

“Are you resident for the weekends too, Will?” It’s asked with genuine curiosity as Hannibal starts the long walk back to his room in the opposite wing, the other boy following in-step.

“Yeah,” Will offers simply.

Over the weekends, a lot of people would leave - the building would be much more empty then, everyone scarce. Quiet. Lonely, almost.

He tries his best to hide his relief that Hannibal wouldn’t be gone from the premises in its entirety for the next few days and, therefore, making him inaccessible every weekend from here on out. Will is determination to seduce the other boy is one that is quickly taking root deep under the surface of his skin— it’s eating away at him, swiftly and without mercy.

Both of them side-by-side, Will keeps up with Hannibal as they walk down the hall towards the other side of the building. Angling to peer over towards the other, a smirk stays plastered over the curve of Will’s mouth and brows still arched in humor, before he jokes,

“Can go three days without seeing me again? Are you getting used to me being around yet?” Will nudges an elbow into Hannibal’s arm, toying with him.

There’s a pause, before Will goes on, words dripping with filthy implications. “You don’t have to wait to see me until Monday… you _do_ know my room number.”

Hannibal looks down towards the other, amused by his persistence.

“I’m quite sure you will see to it that I don’t have to wait until Monday to see you,” Hannibal says. “Not only do I know your room number, but seeing as you are trailing me, I can only assume I will end up with a visitor sooner rather than later.”  
  
Will doesn’t argue - merely keeps a coy expression directed towards Hannibal even as they come to a stop. Will watches while Hannibal fishes a key from his pocket and unlocks his room, swinging the door open so he can lean against the door frame.

He’s purposefully placing himself between his bedroom and Will in order to keep the boy out. Will can see right through it and Hannibal isn’t exactly trying to hide it.

“So, no friends or family come and visit you?” Hannibal inquires further

Aside from Will’s addiction, Hannibal can see a certain beauty of heart in the other boy and wonders just where he might have gotten lost.

It’s a question that Will outwardly has some sort of reaction to - however fleeting it might be - reflecting from deep in the back of his mind. Perplexing. Hannibal tries to read Will, but while at times he seems like open book, at others, nothing translates through the fog that lies between them.

Will’s eyes fall away from Hannibal for a moment in thought, before Will presses his lips into a tight line, humming a quick sound of consideration.

“Nope. Just me.”

_Just Will_. It’s how it’s been for a long while now and in more things than just rehab. Maybe he prefers it that way - he isn’t sure.

Clearing his throat, Will asks, “And you? Any visitors?”

“None.”

Although, Hannibal suspects he may be battling away one incessant, dark-haired boy from here on out.

“Hm,” Will hums to himself as he creeps in closer, standing on his toes and craning his jaw to peer over Hannibal’s shoulder, into the boy’s room as to better get some sort of idea for what the inside might look like.

A prying, relentless curiosity. Will is so close that they nearly bump into one another now within the close proximity, as he shifts until he’s satisfied enough with what he’s able to see.

Hannibal’s hand comes up on instinct to press tentatively against Will’s chest, holding him just there— keeping him at bay and yanking him from the focus he directs towards spying into Hannibal’s room.

A pause.

A gentle gasp and both of their gazes meet in the middle, heartbeats picking up.

“Wow. Your room is clean. And...” Will trails off, squinting over Hannibal’s shoulder again, before, “you make your bed every day. Interesting.”

Although flushed now and practically dizzy with his sudden spike in desire, a grin lights up Will’s features with this new discovery. Will can be quite messy, himself. His own bed is never made when he leaves his room. He turns his attention back towards Hannibal, who remains just as he is, blocking the entrance to the room.

Hannibal simply gives a hum of his own in response, fingers pressing harder against Will’s chest— to feel, not to push.

A soft laugh is given, along with an inviting expression, before Will purrs, “I could help you mess it up. C’mon - it’ll be fun.”

“Oh, I have no doubt it would be fun,” Hannibal’s hand slides up to catch the side of Will’s throat in a light embrace, thumb pressing over the other boy’s racing pulse, “but I want more than just fun.”

In a snap of movement, Hannibal catches the back of Will’s head with the opposite hand, before covering Will’s lips with his own. It’s searing, needy, and clearly unexpected on Will’s part, who releases a moan of satisfaction into the warmth of it. Hannibal takes it as opportunity to invade the other’s mouth with his tongue, claiming and devouring a taste for all that he truly wants from Will, but refuses to give in to.

Hannibal kisses down hard enough that Will’s knees buckle and he’s forced to collapse against the other boy - another trust fall, but this time, with no air and no mercy as Hannibal sears all demands shut.

The kiss is wild, welcomed, and a thousand times better than their first kiss had been.

Will squirms against Hannibal, pressing in closer and chasing every sweep of his tongue, hands reaching out wind into the straight strands of his hair.

Now more than ever, Will wants access into the object of his desire’s bedroom, but before he can even insist upon it further, the possibility is quickly shut down. It’s as though Hannibal can sense exactly what Will is about to do at any given moment. Maybe he’s more predictable than he thinks he is.

“No.” Hannibal growls into Will’s mouth, eyes sliding open and boring down into vivid blue to reveal partial lust and a partial struggle in resolve.

Will gives a small sound of protest in response to such a definitive answer, but he can see the battle that Hannibal has within himself to stick to his guns and actually keep Will at bay, while also not entirely wanting to.

“No? Are you sure?”

Will’s voice is a whisper against Hannibal’s mouth, one hand leaving his hair to wind downwards and rest a palm flat against the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Underneath, Will can feel Hannibal’s heart hammering away, answering the question for him. He _isn’t_ sure.

However, Hannibal drags in a staggered breath, skin trembling under the other boy’s touch as a pained, animal sound catches in the back of Hannibal’s throat and he takes a step away. Will tries to follow, hips pressing forward, if only to seek friction, and hands reach to grasp for something - anything.

Wide-eyed and passing the back of his forearm over his own mouth to chase away the feeling of the kiss, Hannibal manages to slip free from Will’s embrace and affections.

“No, wait—“ his voice is pained and bordering on pitiful.

It’s too late. Will knows that he’s lost another round. He knows that, in seconds from now, he would be walking back to his own room. Alone.

“Good night, Will.”

With that, Hannibal closes the door without a glance back. Without testing temptation.

Without Will.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **As usual, this chapter isn't beta-read, so all mistakes belong to us.**   
>  **Enjoy!**

****Once separated, Hannibal had closed the door with a sinking feeling in his gut— a feeling that had quickly turned to a deep and aching pain. As soon as he had slid the lock across, he’d leaned back heavily against the door, eye falling closed as he swallowed hard. A shaky hand lifted to rub over his abdomen and he had felt the muscles twitching and contorting there, below the expanse of his skin.

The sweet image and taste of Will had been quickly whisked away by the night - a night spent pressed in tight against cool, white tiles with Hannibal’s head hung low over the toilet bowl. By the time dawn crept through his room with its low, milky light, he was spent.  
  
Meds had come with breakfast. They gave him just enough of a reprieve from the cold sweats, shaking, and nausea that he could sleep. But even then, his dreams had been nothing but depraved images of Will and all the things that could never be.

And, through the night, Will had burned alone in his room as well, entirely consumed by his yearning for Hannibal.

Will had fought against himself and against the urge to text, call, or even show up at the other boy’s door, begging once again to be allowed inside the room. Will had sprawled himself out over the sheets of his bed with the shades drawn and the light of the moon cutting a silver cast through the cracks in them, his hands wandering the lengths of his body. Eyes shut and giving small, silent huffs of heated breaths, Will’s imagination had replaced his own hands with Hannibal’s.

It still hadn’t been enough.

The next day, Will had left his room to eat and to sit alone in the warmth of the courtyard. Others occupied the space as well, though not so many as usual due to it being the weekend. They all either talked amongst themselves, or lounged with a book in their lap. Peaceful.

Almost.

He’d hoped that he might see Hannibal, but Will had caught no sight of the other boy.

It had taken everything in Will’s power to go directly back to his own room after visiting the courtyard.

He knows that it’s all a battle of willpower. He knows that he’d checked himself into this place to begin with so that he could win this battle out against himself. Giving into his need and sleeping with Hannibal would mean yet another failure on Will’s end in the effort to get better, that much he knows, but the desire in his belly that continues to grow is one that’s almost impossible to ignore.

Which is why, once the sun had set and quiet had begun to settle over the building, Will had found himself slipping out into the hallway, sneaking to the door of Hannibal’s room and giving it a light knock. It’s a rapping that’s low enough as to not draw any unwanted attention, while being just determined enough to grab the only attention that matters.

And yes, Will had made the very conscious decision not to text the other boy before showing up,. He’d wanted to keep the element of surprise on his side, despite how predictable he knows this must be anyway.

“Hannibal, let me in,” Will hisses quietly, mouth nearly pressed to the crack of the door, anticipation and excitement for seeing the other again humming hot under his skin.

Inside, Hannibal wakes, if only slowly, with fingers clawing at the bed sheets and a groan tumbling off his lips. He reaches for his phone to check the time, before quickly placing it back down again. He supposes this must be some kind of record for Will— resisting the lure of a quick fuck for, what? Twenty-four full hours?

Well, he’s here now. Recovery is all about baby-steps, after all.  
  
Throwing the covers back, Hannibal swings his legs around and off the side of the bed until his bare feet come in contact with the carpet.

“A moment.” His voice is hoarse and tired when he calls towards the door.

Truth be told, he hadn’t quite decided if he planned on letting Will inside at all. Head in his hands, Hannibal scrambles for the small cup of medication that had been left for him on the bedside table. Normally, the night staff supervises medication, but because the pills given to him now are primarily to soothe his heaving stomach, he supposes they had simply let him rest when they’d left it.

Long limbs stretch out as Hannibal brings a hand up to scratch over his naked torso, a yawn splitting his maw. Smoothing his hair down and out of his features, Hannibal also makes sure to check that his pajama bottoms are tugged up and drawn tight as he pads over to the door and unlocks it, prying it open.

And indeed, there stands Will - looking rather impatient on the other side.

With a knowing look and smile, Hannibal looks down towards Will, before, “Do you really suppose this is a good idea?”  
  
Although he is a disheveled mess and half naked, Hannibal highly doubts that his persistent little friend would mind in the slightest.

Horrid.

And, predictably enough, Will does admire the view for a long pause, before he actually speaks.

“No. This is a terrible idea,” His eyes rake with an intense interest over Hannibal’s bared skin. “But if you haven’t noticed already, I don’t usually linger too much on whether things are a good or bad idea. Especially if I know I’m going to do them anyway.”

Once the door is opened enough, Will cranes his jaw to peer inside the room - just a quick glance. Even when Hannibal has been sleeping, his room is still kept neat, the blanket over the bed only peeled back enough to allow space for the boy to rest underneath it. The curtains are drawn, but the sun is about to go down, eliminating the imposing light altogether.

Eyes lift back to Hannibal’s, before Will asks, “Can I come in?”

Hannibal sighs, arm reaching up to lean against the door frame just overhead, his loose wrist hanging down. His head tilts subtly off to the side with a fond kind of smile that touches his eyes.

“And if I say no?” he counters.

At that, Will crosses his arms over the front of his chest, a brow arching as he lets eyes fixate on Hannibal’s face for a long moment, before they sweep down and explore his half-naked state once again. Will doesn’t believe for a second that Hannibal truly wants to turn him down - to send Will wandering back to his own room.

Hands reach out, palms skirting over the smooth expanse of Hannibal’s bare abs that ripple with goosebumps under his touch, before hands give the smallest nudge— enough for Will to be granted the space needed to slip past and duck under Hannibal’s arm, into the boy’s room.

And Hannibal allows him. At any stage, the wall of his chest would have been enough to keep the Will out, but against all good judgement, he lets him in. Hannibal takes a brief moment to collect his thoughts and breath, his chest still burning where the touch of warm hands had just been.

A comfortable sigh is given, before Will kicks off his shoes and goes to the bed, perching himself on the edge with a grin painted over his face. He’s quite pleased with himself.

“You can force me out. If you _really_ want me out, that is.”

Hannibal glances back over his shoulder at Will and then once more down the hall, before shutting the door. Pivoting slowly on his heels, he turns to face the other, noting the ease of which he’s already made himself at home. A nuisance. A completely welcome nuisance.

Ever-so-slowly, Hannibal strolls forward, hands resting on his hips.

“Force you out? Something tells me you’d enjoy that struggle just a little too much, wouldn’t you?” Hannibal comes to a stop, standing just before Will’s feet.

“I might. But I’m perfectly content staying right here for now.” Will answers.

Blue eyes watch Hannibal closely and with an utmost curiosity for what he might do next, a delightfully wicked expression still written across Will’s face. It’s true - he would enjoy a playful struggle quite a lot. Probably more than he really should.

“Y’know…” A low, quiet hum is given under Will’s breath. “I think this is the first time we’ve been alone in a room together. Just you and I. The door closed. In complete privacy”

Will gives a delighted chuckle, before kicking a leg out to nudge one of his ankles into Hannibal’s, who remains standing right before the place Will sits. Eyes lower to follow where skin ghosts over skin, watching as Will grows bolder and brushes toes just barely over the top of Hannibal’s foot.

“I am well aware of the predicament you have placed us in.” Hannibal steals an upward glance from under arched brow.

Slow. Feline. Graceful. Hannibal moves swiftly and before the other can anticipate it.

He stretches up and falls over top of Will, catching his wrists along the way and pushing him back into the bed, trapping him beneath a cage of brawny limbs. With fluid ease, Hannibal moves to slot his one of his thighs up between Will’s legs, nudged against his cock for the softest tease of friction.

“Is this what you came here for?” Turning his face so that his lips brush against the shell of Will’s ear, Hannibal then utters in further question, “Or, something more?”

Will has one chance to get it right here - he can sense that much himself.

However, he hardly has much time to react, before Hannibal rolls off with a yawn to lay onto his back against the sheets, a curious gaze directed towards Will. Waiting.

Shifting from where he lies next to Hannibal now, Will moves onto his side, hair tousled and mussed against the blankets and pillows as he peers over towards the other boy in return. Behind the thrill of this game that they play to distract themselves from much harsher tides, something in Hannibal looks weathered and tired. It doesn’t appear to be solely from a lack of sleep. Will wants to ask him about it, but thinks better of it.

“I hate the weekends,” Will starts. “Mostly because I can never decide if I really hate them, or not.”

He remembers, as a child, when weekends were the highlight of each week. When school would let out, the freedom of sun and fresh air would call his name.

Here, the weekends are quiet. Most people go to spend time with their families, leaving the facility in a silent sort of stillness - almost like limbo. The world is seemingly left in its cold in-between stage, fumbling around and unsure of itself, until the week finally starts over again and life is able to go back to its usual routine.

Will likes to be alone. In fact, he often finds himself _needing_ his space. However, he also finds himself drowning very quickly in his own thoughts when left to his own devices. And so, it is this very confusion that leaves him counting down the hours, waiting with bated breath for the weekend to end and for the week to begin once again. A yearning for clarity and for a method to his own madness.

Will can’t stand his own indecision.

“I came here because I was sick of listening to nothing but the sound of my own thoughts.” Will licks his lips as he studies Hannibal’s face, reaching out to brush fingertips over the length of his nearest forearm. “You were asleep,” It isn’t a question. “It’s a strange time of day to sleep.

Right on cue, Hannibal picks up Will’s hand and carefully turns it over, examining it and stroking it. Three fingers stroke over his palm, before following over the curve of his wrist and slowly edging up the line of his arm as well.

“I was asleep.” That is all that’s offered on it, aware that Will is deflecting from himself again.

“If you are going to sneak into my room and tempt me with sex, you can at least answer my questions, hm?” Hannibal’s brow arches slowly as he strokes further over the other boy’s forearm. “You don’t like the weekends because you are alone with your thoughts. What is so terribly not tasty about your thoughts that you would risk falling back into addiction in order to avoid them?”

With a very sudden and very sharp yank of Will’s arm, Hannibal pulls Will over him. It only takes a few short movements of his hands and hips, before he easily maneuvers Will to just where he wants him: straddling him.

A small gasp falls past parted lips, unexpected, but Will assumes the position that is silently requested of him - there is no protest given. And, really, would he have any reason to protest when he’s spent the past few days wanting nothing else more than to be closer to the other boy?

“I like being alone,” Will goes on, hands reaching forward to place his palms against the rise and fall of Hannibal’s naked chest for balance’s sake. The flesh under his touch is warm and tempting. “But silence can be loud… in its own way.”

“Silence is indeed very loud.” Hannibal agrees, sighing heavily under the weight of Will’s hands as they press over the steady beat of his heart.

A small hum is given behind the line of pursed lips as Will seems to continue to muse on it, eyebrows knit, before he gives a quick roll of his hips from where he straddles the other. It’s done for some kind of a physical distraction for both himself and Hannibal— the motion sends a warm spike of adrenaline to bite under the surface of Will’s skin. It’s a sensation that is doubled again as Hannibal returns the action, spine slowly lifting off the bed as his hips roll down and back up again, lifting Will with ease.

A small moan is given in the hollow of Will’s throat - he’s unable to catch it in time.

“Being around others, their thoughts can be distracting. Their expressions. Their words,” Will begins again, eyes fixed away from the other boy’s face and, instead, down at where he pets fingers over Hannibal’s abdomen instead. “But when I’m alone, I carry those with me. For a while, at least. Sometimes it gets hard to differentiate what thoughts are my own.”

Hannibal sucks a breath in and tightens his abdomen as Will’s fingers draw up a line of chills, muscle quivering under flesh with small, dimpled waves. Craning his head to the side, Hannibal gently places his hands against the tops of Will’s thighs, palming their way upward in order to close his hold over the curve of the boy’s hips, fingers digging in until they bruised.

Brow lifted, Hannibal’s eyes watch the small circling motions of Will’s hips closely as they dance over his own, drawing up a throbbing heat and a dangerous need in equal measure.

“So, when you are alone, you are not alone. And when you are around others, you feel like someone else. Fucking is pure to you. Simple. Fucking is your silence,” Hannibal deduces in an absent kind of tone, before unexpectedly snapping his hips up in a sharp thrust whilst keeping his hold on Will firmly in place.

Will’s voice catches in a hitched sound, before he bites teeth into the line of his lower lip in the effort to stifle any further noise. He can’t tell if the teasing is a test of his resolve or not— if it’s some way to physically poke and prod to see how he might react.

Will doesn’t know if actually reacting would be a good, or bad reflection of himself.

Regardless, he can feel himself growing harder in his jeans as blood-flow takes a dive southward, a sigh exhaled through his nostrils in frustration for it. A hand slips up from the bare plane of Hannibal’s chest to run the pads of fingers over the line of his collarbone.

“R-right.” Will answers finally, stumbling over his speech due to both the heat that has ignited in the cage of his chest, and the unease he feels after being so easily dissected by Hannibal.

Hannibal, who barely knows Will at all, and yet, seems to understand him wholly. Hannibal is smart and Will doesn’t need any level of empathy to be able to sense just how smart. Hannibal is able to reach logical conclusions through careful and deep observation.

Much like Will, in a way.

“And _your_ addiction,” ventures Will, turning the tables again. “Is it to silence something as well?”

Hannibal blinks slow as a warm smile lifts his features - soft, tender, feline. He enjoys the unease the other boy feels here.

“You find it difficult, being naked here, like this.” Hannibal’s tone is still gentle when it demands.

They both know to what plane of nudity Hannibal speaks. And they both know, without him having to explicitly say so, that Will does indeed find it difficult to allow himself this level of sharing.

One of Hannibal’s hands drifts to press the heel of his palm against Will’s cock, rubbing slow and steady against the the line of his erection that aches clearly through his jeans. Will promptly presses forward into the touch, a low and muffled moan drowning in the chasm of his throat when he swallows thickly.

“Opium very much mimics the soft caress of love. The boys that I have had a liking for, and seem to have a general liking for me, have only ever wanted one thing,” Hannibal answers in reference to his previously-mentioned former lover. A pointed look is thrown in Will’s direction. “In any form, however, love can still be backhanded.”

It’s an easy enough answer for now, if only to satisfy Will. Hannibal is neither self-pitying or deprecating, he is just simply stating facts. Once upon a time, he had felt an absence and so, he had sought out the presence of something unchanging.

Will knows that Hannibal does not want pity - he doesn’t even seek out an answer to the information offered - but Will cannot help the small tug he feels within his chest for it. He says nothing, feeling a thick and foggy mixture of both guilt and understanding as the fingertips that glade over Hannibal’s collarbone go gentler still. The next roll of his hips from where Will straddles Hannibal’s lap is one that is slow and slight.

As he draws in another deep breath, ribs rising and falling once again, Hannibal swipes his tongue in a quick line over his lower lip. The small shift in expression allows his sharp canines to bare for the brief flicker of a second, before he continues on.

“You allow that noise inside your head, Will, when you’re alone. What dark morsels of thoughts hide behind the noise you let in, I wonder? What are you really drowning out with all of these _feelings_?”

With that, Hannibal’s fingers wind around Will’s cock as best they can through his jeans in order to stroke. Free hand then sweeping around to rest over the small of Will’s back, Hannibal keeps him close as powerful hips rock up towards friction.

Hannibal is not erect.

Will growls now, kept low in the effort to contain all sound on their side of the door. Lips curl into the barest hint of a snarl and a flash of defiance writes itself clearly over his expression, muddied only by the deep blush of arousal that settles over the angles of his cheeks.

“I didn’t come to your room so I could be psychoanalyzed,” he hisses, eyes finally connecting fully with Hannibal’s. “I get plenty of that during the week.”

A harsh snap of his own hips is given then, filling Hannibal’s fist with the thickness of his clothed erection. Hannibal smiles a sharped-toothed grin and offers a slight ‘ _tsk_ ,’ pressed to the back of his teeth as he rocks his hips up again.

Will steadies himself with a shaky breath as he rides each rolling motion, blinking away the sight of the world around him just long enough to think better of his words.

“If you must know, I’m not really all that sure, myself, about what’s hiding underneath. Darkness, or not. Maybe that’s why I’m here, at this place at all… or here, in your room now,” answers Will finally. “So that maybe I can figure that out and stop feeling like I need to fuck away the noise— or the silence.”

Hannibal lets out a quick and sharp laugh, eyes still soft, but coupled with a wry sort of amusement, before the sound trails off on a sharp and ragged exhale. He continues to stroke harder as he memorizes the deeper shade of blush staining Will’s cheeks.

His feral nature is showing, and it’s beautiful.  
  
Without warning and before Will can express irritation, Hannibal snaps his hips up with enough power to destabilize him. Rolling Will so that he is lying on his back, Hannibal quickly follows and rolls on top, slipping back into their original position.

“ _Hmm_ ,” he hums under his breath with a deep satisfaction as his hands catch both of Will’s wrists and pushes them up, above his head and against the bed. Hannibal uses his grip to push and pin Will into the mattress, before tossing a quick look back over his shoulder to check the door. Wedging a knee between Will’s thighs in order to kick them apart, Hannibal slots himself between them.

He is met with no resistance. In fact, Will spreads his legs quite eagerly.

Settled, Hannibal holds himself above Will, their hips just barely grazing. Licking over his lips and craning his jaw to crack a couple stiff joints in his neck along the way, Hannibal’s attention is brought back to hone in entirely on the task at hand once again.

“You know they, out there, can’t help you.” Hannibal lowers his head to press his lips to the corner of Will’s mouth, before pressing hips forward - just enough to simply tease at the idea of friction. “You don’t _want_ them to help you.”

Eyes flash bright as Hannibal glances up, biting at the plush curve of Will’s lower lip and rocking his hips down harder.

“They, out there. This whole rehab charade, it’s just another distraction.”

“I… _mm_ —” Will goes to answer, but is abruptly cut off when Hannibal’s mouth comes to cover his.

He claims Will’s lips completely, kissing him hard enough that his mouth is forced open to welcome the invasion of Hannibal’s tongue. A rough growl vibrates up from Hannibal’s throat and pours into their kiss as his grip on Will’s wrists tightens again.

“You came here precisely because you know I can see right into those spaces. Those nasty, dark, and wonderful corners of your bone arena that you don’t want to look.” Hannibal keeps Will’s wrists trapped with one hand as the other drifts to trace over his cheek bone, jaw, and over his throat. “I think that your darkness wants to play with my darkness, just as much as your cock wants to fuck deep into my mouth right now.”

It’s true.

It’s so glaringly, painfully true and Will finds himself moaning into their kiss for it, hips bucking in some sort of desperate search for relief.

Will had chosen Hannibal. Upon first laying eyes on the other boy, Will had chosen him, and it was for no other reason besides the slap of understanding that had come to hit him upon their initial meeting. There had been a connection formed only through sidelong glances and tiny upturns at the corners of their mouths.

Their inner-monsters, no matter how often Will finds himself denying his own, had recognized a kindred spirit in the other.  
  
Hannibal pulls Will out of his scattered thoughts by giving a sudden yank, dragging his wrists up further, “Tell me I am wrong!”

“ _Oh, fuck_ … fuck, fuck, f—uck,” Will hisses out, head tipping back as his need escalates.

The tension of this, alone, is nearly enough to send Will falling over the edge now, almost cumming into his jeans. It’s been way too long. The friction between them is so slight, but the way in which Hannibal pins Will down with both the touch of strong hands and also with his words that dissect completely - it is the heat and the tension of _this_ that is not slight at all.

In fact, it’s damn-near overwhelming.

“You’re not wrong,” Finally, a grounding breath is sucked in through Will’s nostrils and he tries his best to keep his voice normal, rather than allowing it to reflect the lewd and lilted way in which it threatens to lift. “You’re right… _so right._ ”

Will loves this. He feels a sick and wicked sort of thrill that he know will leave behind a stormy guilt later on - perhaps even a feeling of denial for his own reckless actions. But for now, it feels right. It’s warm, welcoming, and stroking him in all the right places, building up until it’s too much to take.

Groaning lowly into another kiss, Will adds, “I can’t help myself with you. I wanna know more— I want to feel more.”

The hand that had been rested lightly at Will’s throat now clamps down hard to cinch tightly and shoves his jaw up, forcing him to come face to face with Hannibal. Will doesn’t fight it - only allows his eyes to connect with the other boy’s obediently, lips parted as he waits for the moment air might be granted back to him.

“You don’t want to feel more.” Hannibal’s full lips curl up into another snarl as he yanks Will’s fine wrists higher, if only to hear him whimper again. “You just want to feel yourself. And not feel scared by it.”

Strong fingers press into Will’s jaw, palm cradling underneath it and digits winding up the sides of his face, feeling out the rows of teeth underneath smooth skin. Just enough pressure to hurt, but never to bruise.

“You see yourself reflected back when you see me. You see someone who isn’t afraid of what they are.” Hannibal’s voice goes softer now, nearly crooning, as his hips resume gliding between Will’s thighs.

Will can only give a small, choked groan in response as it breaks free past the tight grip around his neck, his lungs beginning to strain in their desperation for air.

It’s all true, everything that Hannibal says, and Will hates it. He hates how easy it is for the other boy to see right through him. And yet, Will also revels in it. He’s slowly finding himself addicted to this feeling he gets in Hannibal’s presence.

To be understood and to understand in return, to some degree, is a rush.

As Will’s struggle for air becomes more desperate, Hannibal chases away his fear by closing his mouth over the smaller boy’s, claiming another messy kiss, before murmuring into it, “And if you cum now, or without my express say so from this point on - whether in my presence, or alone in your room - you will never see me again. And we’ll certainly never have sex.”

In a flash of limbs that are as precise as they are vicious, Hannibal is up and throwing the other boy over, turning him onto his front and climbing against his back. Hannibal grabs and pulls to twist one of Will’s arms back, holding it against the dip of his spine, before Hannibal pushes his other hand into Will’s hair to hold his head down.

From there, Hannibal is able to take his place back between Will’s legs, now kicked open from where knees rest against the mattress and shoulders remain pushed down to present himself.

Cock now erect and hardening more by each passing second, Hannibal starts to rut in a steady pace against the curve of Will’s ass, pressed in between his cheeks, both boys only separated by a few layers of clothing. With a groan rolling off his lips, Hannibal presses his mouth to the back of Will’s neck.

“Tell me all your pleasure belongs to me. Say it.” A simple order given in a simple tone as Hannibal fucks down harder, the bed shaking under the weight and motion of them both.

Will, sucking in lungfuls of air now that he is permitted to, releases a breathy, lilted sound. Fingers of his free hand dig hard into the sheets, knuckles going white in his effort not to cum just from the sheer delight of feeling Hannibal in this way— rough and hungry in his dry thrusts.

Will can only imagine how it might feel to have Hannibal actually fucking into him.

“ _Hannibal_ ,” Will hisses, lip curled in a snarl to reveal pearly teeth as he throws a desperate, worried look over his shoulder. “I don’t know if I can…”

A particularly brutal thrust is given in response, nearly sending Will stumbling forward into the headboard of the bed.

He reaches up with his free hand, over and behind his shoulder to wind fingers into Hannibal’s hair, biting down into his own bottom lip to stifle any louder noise. He wishes Hannibal would just divest them of their clothes now and fuck Will with no more hesitation, but he knows within his heart of hearts that they wouldn’t be having sex tonight.

Quite possibly, they wouldn’t be having sex anytime soon at all.

Which is why the idea of giving it all up until then - everything, including the touch of his own hand - is an idea that seems almost entirely impossible to Will.

However, the thought of never seeing Hannibal again elicits a whimper.

It would be easy. All he would have to do is transfer to another facility, change his phone number, and never contact Will again. There wouldn’t be anything he could do about it. This game that has been started between them would be over and Will would be left alone in his head again.

“Okay— yes. It’s yours,” Will chokes out, turning his face in towards the sheets, focusing on the feeling of Hannibal’s hips grinding into the curve of his backside. “My pleasure belongs to you… _all of it_.”

Hannibal smiles against the back of Will’s neck. “It always has.”

The absolution of it is enough to elicit chills. There is no doubt. Will was _made_ to want Hannibal.

Dragging an opened-mouthed kiss along the shivering flesh of Will’s nape, Hannibal continues on with a warning.

“My sense of smell is heightened to approximately one-hundred times that of the average human. I can not only smell that you have fucked your hand and washed it clean several times with hospital grade detergent - but I can also scent you, simply when you're aroused. I can scent when you're afraid. I can tell everything about you from merely standing in the same room as you.”

Hannibal tugs Will’s arm tighter against his back, before giving another more brutal thrust, crushing him into the bed. When Hannibal speaks up again, each of his words are punctuated by a forward slam of his hips.

“Don't. Lie. To. Me. Or you'll be left begging in my absence. Are we clear, my boy?”

While he waits for an answer, Hannibal catches the sharp scent of fear as it snakes its way up Will’s spine. It works quickly to overwhelm Hannibal’s senses and leave him wanting, rolling his face against the back of Will’s head, chocolate curls brushing over his cheeks.

Finally, Will huffs out, “Yes. Crystal-clear,” his voice strained with the fight he puts up against his looming orgasm.

“The things I could do to you, right here and now… no one knows you're in this room with me. And, _oh_ , doesn't that excite you? Horrid boy.” Hannibal purrs and snaps his teeth.

“Yes. God, yes,” Will gasps, arching his back further in order to grind himself back against the thick line of Hannibal’s erect cock. “Will you let me cum tonight? Here? _Now_? Hannibal… please.”

“I will not.”

Will makes a sound in protest, before snarling out one final, “Please!”

“No.”

Hannibal’s voice is stern and deliberate, yet still smooth and enticing as ever against the shell of Will’s ear. It’s decided. Will knows there’s nothing he can do or say to change the other’s mind now and, therefore, Will can do nothing but release a shaky, broken sigh.

One last thrust is given - it’s a motion that’s long and slow, taking the time to feel one another entirely and memorize that feeling, regardless of the layers of clothes that separate them. And finally, they are both left at a stand-still, Will panting into the sheets, while Hannibal pants against the back of his neck.

Time seems to stop briefly to allow them this moment. The world around them sits in stillness as they focus on one another’s breathing, stabilizing it until it falls into sync.

It’s almost like coming down from the high of climax, but Will feels anything but sated.

Before Hannibal finally draws away, a lingering and gentle kiss is pressed behind Will’s ear first, cold air rushing in to take the place of warmth against the curve of Will’s back when Hannibal goes. His absence is felt now, stronger than ever before.

Both boys pull themselves off of the bed, Will following Hannibal and they mirror one another as they adjust the uncomfortable tightness in the front of their pants.

Will doesn’t want to leave. But he knows that he has to.

He also knows that he might have been able to stay longer, had things not taken the turn that they had. Oh yes, Will is quite aware that he has some work to do in the whole self-control department. Maybe both of them do. Otherwise they wouldn’t be here at all to begin with, would they?

“I look forward to the next time we see one another, Will,” Hannibal offers. By the glance he throws towards the other as he makes his way over to open the door out to the hall, Will can tell that it’s genuine.

Will’s steps are slow when he follows, hesitating at the door. He tentatively slips his shoes back on, but doesn’t leave just yet. “I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t want you to go, either.” Simple. Matter-of-fact.

“But I have to.” Will says, knowing it to be the truth. It isn’t a question. A tiny smirk spreads suddenly as he studies Hannibal’s features, before adding, “Because you want it too, and you’re worried you might give in to that want, if I stay.”

Hannibal doesn’t say anything, but Will doesn’t need him to. The smallest change in expression - be it the arch of a brow as eyes bore into Will’s skin, or the barest hint of a playful smirk returned - it all speaks volumes of its own.

Will’s lips spread into a full-out grin for the small victory, before purring, “I look forward to next time as well then.”

And with that, he exits into the hallway, the door shut softly behind him, closing him away from Hannibal and adding distance between them once again.

Until next time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry for posting this chapter late, and for those who have been anticipating an update, thank you so much for your patience! We just hit a few snags, time-wise, with writing this one up along with all our other projects. Rather than rushing, we wanted to make sure we were still putting up something genuine and at the level of the chapters before it.**   
>    
>  **We introduce some more characters you'll recognize in this chapter and there's a little bit of angst/jealousy, but you won't have to wait long for the next update - it's already in the works!**   
>    
>  **Enjoy!**

****Once Will had gone back to his own room, the rest of Saturday night had dragged on for what had felt like forever. He had burned alone while trying to sleep, tossing and turning - sweating through the sheets and growing frustrated when rest didn’t come easily.

Hannibal had wound Will up, just to leave him that way: tense and positively aching.

And Will was not to touch himself.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to make it - to feel no relief until Hannibal allowed it. Will already feels like he’s about to crawl his way out of his skin for how long it’s been since he’s last been fucked. And now that he technically can’t jerk off? Will really doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

And then, all day Sunday had gone by even slower than the previous night.

He’d tried his damnedest not to bother Hannibal that day - really, he had - but maybe it would have been a little easier if he weren’t feeling so pent-up.

It had almost been the evening when Will finally cracked and sent a text.

‘ _Can I come to your room? Please._ ’

To which, he had received a prompt, ‘ _No._ ’ in answer.

After, Will had almost gone the rest of the day, before tossing and turning in his bed once again had driven him to send Hannibal another text. This time, far more desperate.

‘ _Hannibal. I really need to get off. Please._ ’

Hannibal had answered with, ‘ _If you would like for our interactions to continue, then you won’t until I give you permission_ ,’ only to finish it off with a second text, stating, ‘ _And I will know if you do._ ’

So, Will had forced himself to sleep that night, more frustrated than ever, before he had awoken the next day to the world seemingly having shifted back into a level of normalcy. Those who had been gone for the weekend had returned to the facility to continue on with their weekly routine there. And Will could finally breathe a sigh of relief for the static silence having been filled - the feeling of limbo that so often had his mind absolutely _filled_ with thoughts of Hannibal.

  


*******

  


Monday’s group therapy session starts out great, initially.

When Will first sees Hannibal, he swears he could weep with relief just for having laid eyes on him. A bright grin paints itself across his features as he makes his way over and quickly takes the seat besides the one that Hannibal occupies, taking care to graze gentle fingertips across the top of his nearest shoulder upon doing so, if only to briefly grab his attention.

“Hannibal.” It’s all Will says - a greeting spoken low as he leans back comfortably in his chair, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. A sidelong glance is cast towards Hannibal beside him, unable to ignore the charge of energy that seems to flow between the two of them whenever they are in close proximity.

Hannibal is quick to note that Will’s scent is sweet and fresh.

Though a smile had lifted Hannibal’s features long before the touch of gently beseeching fingers, or before the purr of his own name petted over his senses, it lifts genuine now. Will, his own wicked little nymph, had abstained. So far, anyway. It’s a sign of devotion that gives far more than words ever could.

With a slowly arching brow and cant of his head, Hannibal offers a warm, but neutral greeting to Will in return.

Others file in, some new and some old. They seat themselves at the various open chairs in the circle around the room and converse quietly amongst themselves as they wait for the session to begin.

Will watches as a boy comes in, someone he doesn’t recognize, and sits in the open chair on the other side of Hannibal. He looks to be about their age with loose chocolate curls to frame his features - shorter than Will’s, but similar in color. Really, besides the fact that he’s fairly tall, the boy’s appearance is similar to Will in a lot of ways. In one hand, the newcomer clutches a book, the pages well-worn and bent at their edges. And as he gets comfortable, Will doesn’t miss the way in which the stranger throws Hannibal a nod in greeting and a smirk that seems to linger for far too long.

Feeling a very sudden flash of irritation, Will quite literally has to swallow down a growl.

Hannibal catches the extended greeting offered by the stranger and, because manners dictate that he do the same, he introduces himself simply by giving the boy his first name with a nod as well.

With the offer of a loose, but warm handshake, the new boy says that his name is Anthony. His voice is smooth when it crafts each word - he is animated, just as his face reads.

It would appear Anthony’s naughty smirk is his standard expression, but it’s certainly heightened under the glow of Hannibal’s attention. And Will keeps his eyes directed forward, while entirely focused on trying to listen in their direction, arms crossed over his chest in a tense silence.

As though he were able to catch the mere scent of anger on the air, Hannibal turns his head to look back towards Will, who clearly fights a battle with his own tongue... And Hannibal couldn’t be more amused.

A slow and quiet sigh is given, Hannibal’s eyes falling shut, only to then reopen and direct the very clear expression of a silent, _Really?,_ towards Will. All it really earns is a slightly poisonous glance given in return.

_Yes, really._

“William, meet Anthony.” Hannibal sits back just far enough to sweep a light gesture between them. “Anthony, William.

Only then does Will tear his eyes away to train them fully onto the boy who sits on Hannibal’s other side, venom still just-barely readable where it writes itself over his face. When Will concedes and gives Anthony his own nod in welcome, it’s terse and, though not unkind, there’s a readable edge there when he forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

But Anthony hardly acknowledges the gesture - or Will at all really, for that matter - only meeting his gaze for a second, before all attention is firmly trained back onto Hannibal. It takes all of Hannibal’s willpower to resist pulling up Anthony on his lack of social graces, but he sees a play to his own advantage here.

Anthony strokes long, elegant fingers over his weathered book as he hooks Hannibal’s attention with questions regarding the poetry - something regarding thoughts on punishment and Satan and ice. Will doesn’t catch all of it, but Hannibal’s ego is stroked rather effectively and his interest definitely piqued, but perhaps not for the reasons either Anthony or Will might expect. Perhaps for a reason much more sinister than musings on poetry.

Anthony passes the book over with a none-too-subtle stroke of his fingertips over the knuckle of Hannibal’s thumb as they read through his cliff notes and, off to the side, Will exhales a small huff and leans back into his chair.

When all the seats in the circle are finally filled, the group leader - a slim woman with her blonde hair neatly tied back - stands and moves over to a table located on the other side of the room. From it, she gathers a stack of copper bowls, alongside small wooden strikers, and hands them out to each person in the group.

“Tibetan singing bowls,” she starts - her voice is warm and soft when she sits back down in her chair, keeping one of the bowls in-hand for herself. “Sound therapy can be extremely useful in recovery.”

Will attempts to listen as best he can, while still keeping his attention honed in on his surroundings. Most importantly, whatever might be said between Hannibal and Anthony, who promptly goes quiet and places his book of poetry at his side when the discussion starts.

The bowl isn’t large in Will’s grasp, by any means. In diameter, it’s about four inches, give or take, and it fits comfortably in his palm with fingers outspread. The striker is a small wooden stick, around six inches in length and almost thick enough to fill the circumference of his grasp, thumb to index finger.

He’s seen this instrument before and knows it’s commonly used in meditations, but he’s never used one. Will has never meditated before— why would he, when he’s only ever trying his best to escape his innermost thoughts?

Anthony, however, seems entirely eager and already fairly knowledgeable, even before the group leader continues with her explanation.

“Cells and your body vibrate at a specific frequency. Many things can have a negative effect on that frequency,” she goes on. “When using instruments for sound therapy, your cells will actually vibrate at the same frequency and it will oftentimes result in a release of stress, or tension.”

With that, the group leader demonstrates, taking her wooden striker and hitting the end of it gently against the outside rim of her bowl, cradled in the flattened palm of her opposite hand. The sound it makes upon impact is smooth, rising up in a single note chimed into the open air, before she then takes the striker and begins circling it around the outside of the bowl, ghosting against the outer rim to carry on the note in one long stream. It’s not an unpleasant noise, but it’s one that’s felt within the very core of oneself. Intrusive, but only gently so.

She lifts the striker away and the sound tapers off, before she speaks again.

“When recovering from addiction, many find that sound therapy and meditation are helpful ways to cope with any cravings or urges you might have. It can help you to relax and to perhaps release any buried emotions. That is, ultimately, our goal and in the sessions we have here,” the group leader goes on, setting her bowl into her lap. “Has anyone here tried meditation before?”

Several people around the circle nod, raising a hand, or give a small ‘ _yes_ ’ in answer - including Anthony.

Will could have already guessed as much, though it stirs a sudden nervousness within him. He has no idea what he’s doing. And regardless of the fact that this new stranger, who has obviously taken some sort interest in Hannibal, even if mild, knows more about the task at-hand than Will does, that’s not what’s truly concerning.

Will doesn’t want to meditate. He doesn’t want to reflect on the thoughts swimming around within the deepest and darkest parts of his mind that are kept under lock and key. Not when those thoughts are kept there for a reason.

The group leader cuts through Will’s inner-musings with, “Alright, so, we’ll start the meditation process by taking a deep breath - in through your nose and out through your mouth. Close your eyes and let yourself relax.”

From there, Will’s decision to leave comes quickly.

“I’m gonna sit this one out,” he mutters, expression and tone flat as he moves to stand and sets his bowl down onto his seat, avoiding the group leader’s questioning gaze. Will avoids everyone’s looks, including both Hannibal’s and Anthony’s, as he turns on his heel and slips out of the room.

He knows he’ll be pulled aside later . Sure, they won’t force him to participate, but someone will pull him aside and ask him why he decided to leave, before they’ll ask him various other questions to make sure he’s okay.

But the bottom line is, Will doesn’t like therapy. He doesn’t like having his head picked apart.

It’s the same reason why he’s had such a hard time at all the places before this one.

Once he’s out the door and in the hall, Will swallows down the shallow ache that threatens to swell hot from within the cradle of his chest, before he decides to make way for the cafeteria, where he distracts himself with a cup of coffee. And now, the quiet and emptiness of the room feels like a godsend. He takes a seat at one of the nearby chairs and leans elbows forward onto the table in front of him, coffee set aside to cool as he rubs palms over his face with a sigh, working fingertips into the bridge of his nose to will away a growing headache.

He tries not to think about Anthony now, back in the room, at Hannibal’s side, without Will at his other side. Surely, Will is just quick to react. There’s no real reason to be jealous— not yet, anyway.

Hannibal had remained distracted ever since Will had left through the door. Gone. A kind of homesickness had tugged at the beating thing behind his ribs.

The vibration of the singing bowl did, indeed, end up having a soothing effect on the beast that seethes underneath Hannibal’s skin, for the most part. The endless, soft, wavering sound that had filled the air and pushed through his bones - had calmed Hannibal’s nerves like a blanket of golden warmth.

He knows he cannot control what feelings come whenever Will and his ever-sweet scent are near, Hannibal can only control his own actions. But Will is not the only temptation life has managed to splay out before Hannibal in this place.

Throughout the mediation, the woody, vetiver scent of Anthony’s skin had called to Hannibal in a much different way, as did the little glances and accidental brushes. This new Lothario was playing with fire.

Hannibal’s sexual appetites are fierce and primal, but he also has other appetites that are far darker, nearly uncontrollable, and very lethal. Unbeknownst to Will and Anthony, of course, they might as well have been tailored perfectly for Hannibal’s darker appetites. And where Will is afforded protection on account of his general allure, Anthony has no such luck. If Anthony kept beckoning Hannibal in the way he insists upon doing so now, it would only end in a mess.

And maybe that’s just fine.

At the conclusion of the session, Hannibal had risen and headed directly for the cafeteria, long purposeful strides pushing him ahead without hesitation or thought. One wouldn’t need to be a therapist to figure out why Will had opted out of today’s session. Ultimately, it would take more than a Tibetan singing bowl to drown out the nasty thoughts that snake around inside that pretty little head of his.

Hannibal understands. Oh yes, the idea of being forced to sit there and listen to those thoughts would be beyond torturous for someone who is yet to master the art of silencing and wrangling them.

Will is nursing his cup of coffee when he hears the door open down the hall and lifts his gaze to watch everyone else file out beyond the threshold, the therapy session finished before he’d even realized that time had passed. Some people head straight in the direction of the courtyard, while others turn to slip into the cafeteria as well, conversing amongst themselves.

When he spots Hannibal and Anthony walking together, moving into the cafeteria side-by-side with Anthony chatting away while wearing that very same lopsided smirk of his, Will has to quickly remind himself that there’s _still no reason to feel jealous._

Regardless, his eyes catch Hannibal’s from across the room, raising a brow pointedly with lips pressed into a tight line.

And as Hannibal walks, Anthony is at his heels entirely, over him, pressing into him, even going as far as stroking fingertips down the length of Hannibal’s arm when he works to makes them both a cup of coffee.

Ever since the bowls stopped singing, Anthony hadn’t stopped talking.

Knowledgeable? Yes. Articulate? Yes. Interesting? No.

Well, at least not in the way Anthony is possibly hoping to be. And very likely not in the way Will is thinking either.

Although Hannibal’s body is still oriented towards the coffee machine, he twists his neck enough to seek out Will with a cutting side-glance. He occupies one of the tables some distance into the room - alone, small, fragile… seething. The flash of his vivid blue eyes as they stare back in return would eviscerate a person if they were anyone but Hannibal. However, Hannibal is simply drawn in. Curious as ever.

As he finishes preparing coffee for himself and Anthony, Anthony presses closer again. Hannibal’s hands are fully occupied, holding one coffee for himself as he holds out another for Anthony to take. Anthony leverages the advantage and leans in to murmur against Hannibal’s ear.

“Page seventy-four has a poem of mine written in the margin that I think may be to your liking, darling.” His voice is just as sensual as all of his body language. It’s making itself clearer and clearer that this is just the way in which Anthony carries himself. Flowery. Theatrical.

Off to the other side of the room, Will tries not to ignite into flames as his anger comes to a rolling boil.

Hot breath pets over the shell of Hannibal’s ear whilst Anthony’s daring hands tug at his jacket and slide a book into the inner-pocket. Hannibal turns his head just enough to look down towards him, their cheeks almost touching as a brow is arched in Anthony’s direction, a silent sort of _tsk_.

Hannibal turns suddenly, and an expression of nearly theatrical horror washes over his face as a cup of coffee spills over long fingers and down the front of Anthony’s pants. Hannibal offers an immediate apology, hissed out to sound genuine, when Anthony releases a sound of shock and mild horror, patting Hannibal down once before taking his leave to a restroom in order to wipe his trousers down.

The commotion is over in a flash and, in the aftermath, Hannibal is left holding his own cup of coffee and one empty cup. He tosses the empty cup in the nearest bin and makes a fresh cup, just the way Will likes, and strolls over to take a seat beside him. He passes him a cup without saying a word.

The silent conversation continues.

Will sips from the cup that had been granted to him, feeling rather stunned for the scene that had just played out before him. The accident had been intentional, that much is obvious. Or, at least obvious to Will, anyway, who knows Hannibal well enough now to know that accidents aren’t really his thing.

The coffee is set back down onto the table in front of him and Will passes his tongue over his mouth to wet it as he drags a finger absently over the rim of the cup, eyes just barely flickering over to the boy beside him.

And then, before he can stop himself, Will laughs.

It’s kept quiet and huffed out past his teeth, lips drawn back into a grin, before he brings a hand up to his mouth with brows knitted in his effort to stop the delighted sound from lilting up louder. Cheeks flushed and shoulders shaking with it, he turns to catch Hannibal’s gaze entirely now as Will brings hands up to wipe over his own face, laugh trailing off into a sigh.

“You’re an asshole,” Will says, but there’s not a trace of weight behind it. In fact, he still wears the same grin, teeth biting down into his lower lip now, and something akin to an almost-heartfelt _thank you_ shines in his eyes. Fondness.

Will isn’t oblivious enough to have missed it. Hannibal had purposefully gotten rid of Anthony.

Will also isn’t naive enough to think that Anthony wouldn’t be back, just as much a pest as before, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“Will Graham.”

His gaze is torn away and back to the entrance of the cafeteria, where stands one of the lead counselors, dark hair in soft curls and red lipstick painted over her heart-shaped lips. When Will spots her, she gives him a small smile and then waves him over.

A sigh is promptly exhaled, Will’s smile dropping, before he moves to stand up, fingers closing over the top of his coffee cup as he moves away from where he’d been seated. As much as Will had known it would be inevitable that someone pull him aside, it doesn’t make his irritation for the moment wane. Still, he casts Hannibal an apologetic glance over his shoulder, before following the counselor out into the hall. She keeps walking - he assumes towards her office - so he follows.

“Will, I’m Doctor Bloom. I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to talk one-on-one yet.” When she talks, her voice is warm and calm. She directs a look in Will’s direction from where he speeds up just enough to walk alongside her and her hair falls like a dark curtain over the soft bow of her shoulder.

“No. We haven’t.”

Doctor Bloom gives a tiny nod, affirming what they both already know, before rounding a corner and crossing the hall to an open door. She stops there, holding a hand out and motioning for Will to slip inside, before she follows and closes the door behind them.

Inside is a desk that holds a computer and neatly-stacked files and paperwork. The desk faces a couple cushioned chairs - one of which, Will occupies when she motions for him to do so.

She pulls out her chair on the opposite side, opening one of her files and letting her eyes train down onto it for a brief second as she takes her seat as well.

Will can only assume that the file holds all of his paperwork. He often wonders what goes through doctors’ heads when they read through it. He wonders if they think awful, nasty, human things of him when they see why he’s been checked in in the first place. It’s only natural to judge someone. Will can usually hear it in the slightest shift of their tone— can see it in the tiniest quirk of their brow.

However, Doctor Bloom gives him no such reason to believe that she’s judging him when she finally clasps her hands over-top the paperwork and gives Will another warm smile from across the desk that sits between them.

“How do you feel you’re acclimating here? Are you comfortable?”

Will shrugs one shoulder, before giving her an absent, “As comfortable as one could be, I guess.”

Her eyes seem to bore right through him, as though she were attempting to read even the smallest of expressions on his face directly in return. It causes him to lower his gaze and the free hand not holding his coffee picks at a torn hole that sits over one of the knees of his jeans.

“Good. You can come to me if you feel something isn’t working. I’ve been assigned as your therapist - all of your sessions with me would be just the two of us.” Doctor Bloom goes on, shifting only to straighten the paperwork within Will’s file, before she shuts it and leans down to slip it into a drawer at the side of the desk.

“I don’t really like one-on-one therapy. Or any therapy, really, for that matter.” Will’s voice is simple and flat. Stating a fact.

“Why’s that?”

“It doesn’t work on me.”

Doctor Bloom hums a small, thoughtful sound in response and her gaze drops away, lips pursed. Not unkind, but rather, as though she were thinking it over in her head to try and figure him out. She looks like she might want to press further, but instead, she takes a roundabout route in doing so.

“Would you like to tell me why you opted out of the group session today?”

“Not really.”

She clicks her tongue once and nods, the corner of her mouth still curved up in a knowing smile, but she concedes. She would have plenty of time to pry further down the line, once Will is expected to show up at her office for steady appointments.

“You know, Will,” Doctor Bloom begins again, pulling out a small card and a pen, writing over one side of it as she goes on. “At some point, you’ll have to open up a bit more to therapy, if you want us to be able to help you. That is why you’re here— isn’t it?”

Will gives a slow nod.

“Good.” She offers, capping the pen, before taking the card she’d written on in-hand and reaching over to hand it to him. He takes it, training his eyes down to the appointment that reads over it, before her voice pulls his attention once again. “I’d like to see you every Wednesday afternoon. You can just come here, to my office.”

“Alright.”

Doctor Bloom nods warmly and Will knows she won’t question him anymore - at least not tonight. He’s free to go for now.

Will pulls a half-smile and draws himself up to stand again, stowing the card away in his pocket and brushing down the front of his shirt in the effort to smooth himself over as he makes for the door. He hates this - being alone in a room with someone, with all focus and attention honed in on himself.

“And, Will?” She addresses him once more, just before his hand reaches the doorknob. She waits until he arches a questioning brow over his shoulder, in her direction, before she speaks again. “I think if you give therapy a try, you might be pleasantly surprised. I’m not here so that I can dissect you - I’m here to help you dissect _yourself_.”

That lingers a short moment, before Will tears his gaze away and opens the door, slipping out into the hall so that he can make his way back to the cafeteria. Right now, he feels relief for the silence that he’s greeted with.

He finishes off the rest of his coffee and throws the paper cup into the nearest trashcan on the way. It’s not too long a walk and, just before he rounds a corner to end up near the cafeteria’s entrance, the sound of a familiar voice from further down the hall stops him in his tracks.

_Hannibal_. And Anthony too.

Quietly, Will eases up to the corner and peers around it, just enough for a glance - just enough to catch sight of them. What Will sees, however, sends the heavy beat of his heart plummeting down with an aching lurch...

Anthony leaned close, body pressed into Hannibal’s, their mouths locked together in a kiss.

Will only catches a split second of it, but it’s all he needs, before he’s turning around on his heels and heading swiftly back down the hallway in the opposite direction, up the stairs and towards his room.

Jealousy rushes over him, painful, like rocks in his stomach. Will doesn’t know why he feels so jealous - he knows Hannibal doesn’t belong to him.

But maybe part of Will had wanted him to.

It hurts surprisingly more than Will could have anticipated, seeing Hannibal kiss someone else - the possibility that he might pursue something even more with Anthony - but Will gets it. He couldn’t blame Hannibal if he should happen to want the security of someone else. Someone that isn’t Will. Someone that Hannibal could grow attached to without the worry that they might be unfaithful— that they wouldn’t just be using him. After all, from what he’s told Will about his previous relationship, Hannibal has already been hurt enough in the past and doesn’t want to be another notch on someone’s bedpost.

And as much fun and this thing has been, whatever it is that’s been between them, Will cannot promise that to Hannibal, even though he wishes he could.

Once Will is inside his room, she shuts the door and switches on the lamp that sits on the bedside table. Everything aches. His lungs feel sharp against his ribs whenever he drags in a breath of air, so he digs his teeth into the plush line of his bottom lip in an attempt to distract himself from the sting in his chest.

For the first time since he’d checked into this place and met Hannibal, Will feels alone again.

There’s an itch that starts up now, underneath his skin. Normally, if Will weren’t here, he’d go out and find someone that would fuck him until he forgot his own name, let alone the clawing emptiness he feels. It would be easy to forget Hannibal, if Will could distract himself elsewhere - if he could numb himself and fixate on somebody else.

Just days ago now he had sworn over his pleasure solely to Hannibal. The bridge of his nose wrinkles in frustration at the reminder, before he works on changing out of his clothes and goes into the bathroom to start the shower.

When he hears his phone chime, Will checks it to find a text from Hannibal.

‘ _Where are you?_ ’

Choosing to ignore it, he sets his phone aside, slipping into the warm blanket of the shower, where he’s enveloped in the steam and the white noise of the water hitting the floor, washing over his skin. Deep breaths, eyes closed, and Will can almost picture himself relocated under the warm Louisiana sun, a stream rushing through his legs and a fishing pole in his hand. Content.

Peace.

Quiet.

Alone, but a loneliness that is welcomed.

Will swallows down the lump in his throat, before the swell of calm becomes a heady stab of bitterness and anger. Hot and burning, the water of the river evaporates away as fires rise up in its place, the fish quickly suffocated and consumed by the flames and the smoke. A wendigo with flesh dark as char and ash, emerges, its horns towering over Will in height. It’s eyes gleam a solid milky white from within its skull and the only indication that its gaze is shifted towards Will at all is the dancing flicker in the reflection of light across their surface.

Will doesn’t feel afraid.

When he opens his own eyes again, he doesn’t hesitate to wrap a hand around the girth of his cock, which he’s surprised to find is already standing hard, at full attention. Opposite hand leans with his palm to the shower wall for balance as Will strokes himself in smooth, urgent sweeps of his fist, his mouth parted on shuddering gasps and eyes rolling back behind their lids.

He touches himself until his climax sits just out of reach, coaxing his hips to jerk forward in time to meet each downstroke. Desperate, cloying, breathless, Will can hear his blood pumping in his ears in sync with the throbbing of his erection within his grasp.

When his orgasm rushes over him, it pours cold and tingling from his head down to his toes, like water dumped to put out the fires that had burned around him in his mind’s eye. A rattling exhale sounds and Will gives a few more strokes over his cock to carry him through his release, before everything goes still and the mess is washed away down the drain at his feet.

Will scrubs himself clean, before he turns the shower off and steps out, drying off quietly in a plain white towel. Everything feels still, save for the churning in his stomach. Hair damp, he slips into a pair of pajama pants and takes his phone back to his bed, shutting off lights as he goes.

Before laying under the covers and allowing himself to toss and turn into some semblance of sleep, Will finally decides to send a text back to Hannibal.

‘ _Went back to my room. Obviously coffee isn’t the only thing that’s gotten into Anthony’s pants today._ ’

And then, with an almost-self-satisfied smirk turning up the corner of his maw, he sends a spiteful, ‘ _Asshole_ ,’ to follow it, before setting aside his phone for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry for this one being a couple days late - we have been pretty busy with a project we're currently working on, but we're trying our best to spread time all across the board. Going with every other Saturday's schedule, the next chapter will be posted on Saturday, the 1st. Typically, if we run into any issues, or snags with writing, we will tweet about it, so you can also feel free to follow us there for any updates!**   
>  **Enjoy!**

****‘ _Can I come to your room?_ ’

Will had finally caved and sent the text to Hannibal after an entire day of trying to resist the urge. He’d spent hours of going back and forth between not wanting to see Hannibal at all, and wanting nothing else more.

What Will really wants answers. He wants to know exactly how taken by Anthony Hannibal is.

Will wants to know what that might mean for him.

When the terse answer of, ‘ _No_ ,’ lights up the screen of Will’s phone, he exhales a sharp sigh in frustration and tosses it at his side, face-down against the bed where he sits.

He’s laid back, propped against the headboard with knees drawn up and a book open in his lap, resting against the tops of his thighs as he reads. Well, half-reads. Frankly, it’s been damn near impossible for Will to focus on anything ever since he’d witnessed the kiss between Anthony and Hannibal the previous night.

And, beyond wondering what that kiss might have meant, Will also can’t help but wonder why it matters to him so much. It’s a scary thought that he could be developing feelings and desires beyond those of the physical when it comes to Hannibal. Beyond a surface intrigue.

Life is already complicated enough without feelings like those.

Biting at his bottom lip, Will shuts the book and abandons any hope in distracting himself, picking his phone up again and sending another message.

‘ _Hannibal. Please. I want to talk to you._ ’  And when he gets no reply, after a few minutes, Will follows it with, ‘ _I’m gonna come see you anyway._ ’

To that, Hannibal’s response comes quickly. A simple and serious, ‘ _Do not._ ’

Will nearly snarls in his irritation, the flames of anger beginning to lick hot from within the hollow of his belly. He knows that Hannibal is angry as well - that much is obvious - and it’s probably deserved, after the biting message Will had sent last night.

The demand of staying away is not heeded. Will rises from the bed, stepping into a pair of socks and shoes, before pocketing his phone and slipping out into the hall, where he makes way for Hannibal’s room. When he gets there, he knocks on the door - impatient raps not loud enough to draw unwanted attention, but enough to alert Hannibal from inside.

But Hannibal isn’t the one who opens the door.

Anthony is.

“What’s going on?” is Will’s harsh response, the second the door parts enough to reveal Anthony with his hand on the knob and a brow arched in his own silent question.

Anthony clears his throat once. “Hello, Will. Hannibal and I were just—”

“I don’t want to talk to you, I want to talk to Hannibal. Let me in.” Will doesn’t wait for an invitation, before he shoves his way into the room, causing Anthony to stumble out of the way, forced to shut the door behind them.

With arms crossed over his chest in his sudden spike of anger, Will comes to stand directly in front of where Hannibal occupies a chair at the other end of the room.

“Hannibal, will you tell me what the hell’s going on between you two?” Will demands.

Hannibal’s nostrils flare with a sharp and pointed inhale, studying and dissecting Will in a way that only he is capable of. He knows Will has masturbated. More than once. Not even that putrid hospital disinfectant could cover it. Aside from this, Hannibal doesn’t move.

“It would appear that nothing is going on, now that we’ve been somewhat rudely interrupted. Tell me Will, what do you think is going on? Since you have decided it is somehow of your concern.” His chin dips and brow barely arches as the ghost of a sneer slides across the curve of his upper lip.

Anthony stands off to the side, adjusting his scarf, put out by being brushed aside. However, it would be a lie to say that the sudden spike of heat in the room, brought on the wake of Will’s entrance, isn’t alluring in the slightest.

Will stops short for just a second, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed into a tight line as his gaze shifts suddenly between Hannibal and then Anthony, taking in their appearance. Both are entirely dressed and don’t appear to have been engaged in anything that wouldn’t be considered innocent, though Will isn’t so sure. And, really, it shouldn’t be any of his concern, he’s well aware. That doesn’t mean Will isn’t concerned anyway.

“I…” Another pause, before Will’s eyes are brought back to Hannibal’s, expression tightening once again. “I don’t know. Based on the evidence, I’d say you two were sleeping together.”

His tone is cold. Clipped. Really, for all Will knows, Anthony hadn’t returned to his own room last night at all and had managed to stay here, in Hannibal’s, throughout the night and into today.

Hannibal doesn’t waver in light of the accusation. Indeed, his infuriating stillness almost demands that Will lay out all evidence at his feet, piece by piece - everything for him to pick apart, until there is nothing left.

Anthony, on the other hand, is not so patient.

“Sleeping together?” His hand flies up to his throat as he casts a wayward glance at Hannibal and then back at Will, almost as kindly. “Although poetic in tone, far from poetic in nature.” He lifts a book in hand and waves it slightly, taking a step towards Will, head ducking in understanding. “Although, that is not to say I can’t fault your taste, Will.”

The bridge of his nose wrinkling, Will catches glimpse of the book with an almost-grimace written over his features. His eyes linger on Anthony for a pause, deliberating. Sure, it makes sense that Will had walked in on a mere discussion of writing - but what if Will were to have walked in later? Or, perhaps, earlier? It still doesn’t explain the kiss.

Hannibal sits just as expectantly as he had when Will entered, legs crossed and hands interlaced, hooked over his knee. The silence demands answers, and Will knows it.

“I saw you two kissing last night.” There’s no doubt in Will’s voice with the admission.

Eyes bore into Hannibal’s, Will’s voice flat and nearly wavering now as he tries to mask any emotion that might accompany the words. Only anger is allowed to pass through. Will doesn’t miss the way in which Anthony’s gaze flickers over to Hannibal - fleeting, though telling enough.

“You thought you saw us kissing last night and, in your rage, you fled to your room, relieved yourself, and then saw it fit to throw crude insults at me. All in an attempt to alleviate your conscience.” Hannibal’s tone is finely balanced between warm indifference and frustration. His expression is tight around the eyes and mouth in a mask of disappointment.

Hannibal sighs and lifts his arm in a languid gesture toward Anthony. “Anthony, do please help clarify the situation for Will, here, hm?” The same lazy hand drifts to trail a pointer finger along the top of Hannibal’s plush pout.

“You did see us kissing,” Anthony drifts toward Will and comes to stand less than a foot in front of him - demanding his attention away from Hannibal now. “Rather, you saw _me_ kissing Hannibal.”

Will’s expression doesn’t change, but when Anthony reaches out into the shortened distance between them to brush fingertips under the line of his jaw, his breath hitches almost audibly in his throat. Will doesn’t have the time to draw away, before Anthony’s mouth covers his, warm and unfamiliar. The kiss doesn’t last long, but it’s enough to spark an unexpected heat within Will’s stomach, a feeling that’s mixed in side-by-side with confusion.

“See? No big deal.” Anthony’s breath is sweet on Will’s lips, spoken as they part.

Hannibal’s loose hand forms a tight fist where his lower lip presses to the top of the knuckle. And, where his resting foot had been still, it now taps a slow rhythm. A metronome - steady, but deadly.

“No big deal.” Hannibal repeats as a warning in Will’s direction, giving a roll of his neck to ease the strain of muscles there.

Will nods slowly, but his eyes stay locked onto Anthony, as though trying to pick him apart with a simple gaze. Will understands now, to some degree. To him, kisses have almost always been exactly that— no big deal. He’s still trying to figure out why seeing someone else kiss Hannibal hadn’t initially felt like ‘ _no big deal_.’

“Anthony.” Hannibal looks away, but he’s well-aware of when he has the man’s full attention. His head snaps around quickly to address him, fist still held near the line of his jaw and as tight as ever. Pensive. Cold. “Since you are in such a sharing mood, why don’t you share with Will why it is you are here for treatment?”

A smirk turns up the corner of Anthony’s mouth, giving a half-shrug when he answers without hesitation or embarrassment. “Sex addiction.”

 _Oh_. Now Will truly understands. Or, he at least understands Anthony on a level he hadn’t been able to before.

“Guess we have more than one of our tastes in common then,” Will’s voice finally softens, unable to stop himself from tracing his eyes down over the shape of Anthony’s lips, still able to taste them on his own.

And, with this, it appears to Hannibal that his initial warning had gone unheeded. The way Will weighs his words and the way in which his gaze remains fixed on Anthony’s mouth speaks louder than any word might be hollered. He is hungry for more. And Anthony would need no encouragement.

Hannibal settles back into his the chair, legs crossed and one arm draped over his middle, his opposite elbow propped up on the arm of the chair as his fingers absently trace the bow of his bottom lip. It would be a lie to deny it - the idea of watching both Will and Anthony entwine does, indeed, excite him. But, it’s also boring in its predictability. Sure, Will only has eyes for Hannibal. But only until the next bright, shiny toy comes along. And unlike Hannibal, Anthony would fill all of Will’s needs and then some. A perfect match.

The thought is one that burns.

Seemingly at ease, Hannibal watches and waits.

Realization shows obvious across Anthony’s features, something clicking from within his head. Recognition. And when brows raise and his eyes fall to trace over the line of Will’s mouth just the same, it’s then that a decision is made.

Will takes action and quickly closes the space between them, hands coming up to grasp either side of Anthony’s face as he brings their mouths together in another kiss - one that’s much more heated than the last. And Anthony doesn’t seem surprised at all, kissing him back eagerly and grinning into it victoriously, causing their teeth to clink together when they angle their jaws for better access.

Shorter than Anthony, Will has to arch his neck and press himself close in order to fully lock their lips together, tongues sweeping wet and explorative in the middle. The look that Will casts Hannibal then - one eye slipping open and seeking him out from over Anthony’s shoulder - is a look that’s perhaps strategic.

Sure, kissing Anthony is good, but any kissing is good. It’s just kissing.

 _No big deal_.

But it’s not like kissing Hannibal.

Will has come to realize over the brief time he’s gotten to know Hannibal and has gotten to know the way in which kissing him feels, that nothing really compares. Nobody else gives Will that same pleasantly painful wrench in his gut just by being close.

And to top it all off, Will is only ever consistently given just enough to keep him a desperate and lost puppy, trailing at Hannibal’s heels. He’s never been given any kind of leverage.

Except for maybe throwing himself at Anthony now. It’s not his ideal form of leverage, but it’s something.

Even though jealousy still pools in Will’s lungs and aches there distantly, it cools off now and warms into something much different. This is the first real move that Will has made in this back-and-forth dance between he and Hannibal.

The glance that’s thrown in Hannibal’s direction is a very blatant invitation to play, only torn away when Anthony attempts to walk Will backwards to the bed, their knees bumping together and their tongues entangled.

Hannibal has returned to his motionless repose as Will enters into a very dangerous game. The likes of him surviving it at all - let alone winning Hannibal’s affections - have plummeted dramatically. Not that anything in Hannibal’s expression betrays his deadliness at this point. He wears the mask of lustful tyrant all too well, even for Will’s empathy to pierce.

The swollen tip of Hannibal’s cock strains through his trousers and brushes over where his forearm is laid across his lap. His head cants toward Will as his brow lifts, almost in question: _you have gotten yourself into this Will... what do you expect me to do to extricate you?_

Whilst Will is distracted, Anthony takes the advantage by toppling him back onto the bed, grabbing the hem of his shirt as his spine bows into the mattress. Anthony climbs onto the bed directly after, not caring that Will’s attention is divided when he straddles the empath. He uses his grip on Will’s shirt to pull it up over his head with a single whip of his arm, before Anthony then chases after Will, falling so that his elbows land on either side of his head. Long fingers immediately threading through Will’s mess of dark curls as their lips meet in another kiss, soft but urgent.

The second he needs to break for breath, Anthony lifts a hand to grab the back of his own shirt, ripping it off over his head and tossing it aside so that he and Will are left naked from the waist up, mouths clashing again. One of Anthony’s hands drift down the side of Will’s face, throat, and chest to find the pert nub of his nipple, to which he applies a quick pinch, followed by the soft brushing and rolling of fingertips.

Will can’t help when his spine lifts away from the bed in an arch and the beginning of a moan lodges itself in his throat. He swallows it and exhales shakily, his body responding to Anthony’s touch. Squirming, Will’s hips shimmy and buck upward once, of their own volition, as his hands busy themselves with scraping blunt fingernails down Anthony’s side, or winding fingers into his hair.

And all the while, Will attempts to crane his neck just enough to catch Hannibal’s gaze.

It’s obvious, the tension within the room. It mixes with the rising fog of lust, thick and heady. Will can feel it nearly suffocating him now in a way that’s both terrifying and arousing. It makes him want Hannibal there, beside him. On top of him. Replacing Anthony.

Regardless, Will’s body responds just as it knows how to, pleasure spiking and heat rolling to a boil as he huffs out a small whine, eaten away into Anthony’s mouth.

Hannibal’s eyes fall away from the erotic image as it’s painted before him, blatantly ignoring Will’s beseeching looks. He busies himself, instead, with brushing hands down the front of his trousers and fixing his shirt, all the while ignoring the throb of need between his legs.

“Tell me, Will, how does it feel?” Hannibal asks to finally break the silence. Written between the lines, the unspoken question hangs in the air: _how does it feel now, when it's not me?_

Will isn’t sure how to answer - not right away. His thoughts are jumbled and his flesh feels as though it’s on fire. Wicked flames wrapped around muscle and bone.

Jealousy twists in Hannibal’s gut like a poisonous fist, but like all good poisons, this fist will do best to fester a while before it lands a strike against the boys in question. For now, Hannibal taps into the same plucked cord of debauchery that these two young things are so clearly strung out on. It’s all he can do not to slash his way out of this in the only form he knows how. Violence. Darkness. Hannibal stifles all of it and keeps it tucked, ever-neatly behind the mask he wears.

Anthony doesn't miss a beat. Will’s moans and the roll of his hips, in combination with the slide of their stiffened cocks slotted together, is all the encouragement needed. A gentle hand tends to Will's other nipple with the languid strokes of a poet’s thumb as Anthony then eases himself up onto one elbow, putting a small gap between their chests as his other hand skims down Will’s front and easily pushes inside his loose fitting jeans. The button pops open with a twist of Anthony’s wrist. His skilled fingers wind around the length of Will’s shaft and give a few firm strokes, fist closing tight to fit his cock snug in a warm palm as Anthony continues in his quest to pleasure Will.

Another kiss is sought out, teeth latching onto Will’s lower lip in a slow, teasing drag while Anthony waits with just as much interest for Will’s answer to Hannibal’s question.

Anthony is curious to hear how he feels as well, though perhaps for milder reasons.

Once again, Will has to swallow a moan that threatens to carry louder than the last. It hitches on his breath and snags within his lungs, ribs rising and falling in his chest.

It’s been a while since he’s been touched in this way, skin on skin. Or, at least, it’s been what feels like a while to him. And though Hannibal’s question instills a gnawing anxiousness in the back of Will’s mind, and a longing that he may join them on the bed, it doesn’t erase the relief that’s felt for being touched after so long.

“Good. It’s good,” Will answers finally. His eyes are half-lidded when they shift to connect with Anthony’s, before they roll behind their lids, Will’s muscles going taut.

It’s like being brought to the surface of the ocean after he’d been struggling against water and salt for a lifetime. It’s pulsing. Electric. It’s nearly strong enough to make Will succumb to it and forget who the touch is coming from entirely

“Good.” Hannibal purrs a neat conclusion to himself.

And then suddenly ‘good’ isn’t enough.

Will’s lip curl in a snarl and hips jerk forward to chase that feeling of almost-relief as it slowly ebbs away into a muted hum. Will huffs in his frustration for it, one hand gliding his palm down the front of Anthony’s chest, over his ribs, to press fingers over his hip. With that, Will’s gaze drops back off to the side, jaw craned and any kisses broken to direct his eyes towards Hannibal with brows knitted.

It’s as though Will’s body had been given just a simple taste of Hannibal’s body and now can do nothing but ache in the absence of it. Will is greeted with the very sudden fear that he may never truly feel satisfied again - not without knowing what it’s like to have Hannibal’s body fully merged with his own. Not without Hannibal being the one to give Will that satisfaction.

Will fears this isn’t a feeling he can simply fuck away, as he might have been able to do with any feeling that had come prior.

“More… _please_. It’s not enough.” His voice threatens to tip over into another snarl, though it wavers just on the edge of a lilted whine.

Hannibal’s brows raise more in response to Will’s demands than to the sudden escalation - something that, in all honesty, is a certainty with two young, eager, and starved sex addicts at play.

Out of his own curiosity, Hannibal shifts in his seat, fixes his pants, and clasps his hands over the arms of the chair in order to push to standing. Slowly and wordlessly, the predator crosses the room, his head craning to the side in order to match the angle of Will’s from where it turns towards him.

Hannibal comes to a stop when he’s looming over Anthony’s shoulder, watching. He has no doubts that Will would receive _more_ , just as asked. So very much more.

And he’s right.

Anthony has his own blind streak of narcissism, it would seem. He knows he is pretty in his own way - sensual and sleek. And his mind is even prettier still.

Will’s cry for more is beyond what Anthony can stand to bear. He releases Will’s cock, only to rip down his boxers and jeans, stopping when they come to rest midway at his thighs. Will shifts to allow it, flushed in his sudden nudity, before Anthony then makes quick work of his own pants, fingers fumbling over hooks and clasps in the rush for skin to meet flesh again.

Unlike Will, Anthony doesn’t throttle his moans as cock brushes against cock. His face turns to burrow in against Will’s neck - sucking and biting, but never enough to mark. They all know why they’re here, and discrete is the name of the game.

As his body rolls in long, supple waves against Will’s, hips grinding down, Anthony licks over the palm of his own hand and the wet laps of his tongue fill the silent, yawning void that extends between Will and Hannibal. Once dripping, Anthony’s grip closes over both he and Will’s shafts and starts to work them over as one.

The wet slide of the hand held over Will’s cock, the underside lined up against Anthony’s, causes small ripples in muscle underneath bare skin, ribs fanning on each hungered breath. Will allows for his head to tip back just a moment, falling into the pleasure of it all, before his jaw angles just off to the side once again, always keeping both Anthony and Hannibal within his sights.

“Touch me.” Anthony mewls into the crook of Will’s neck.

Hannibal stands over them, apparently unmoved, but the large, distinct line of his swollen erection in his pants would argue otherwise. In tender - too tender motions, Hannibal’s hands brush up the length of Anthony’s neck and wrap around to cradle his skull.

“How do you want Will to touch you, Anthony?”

Where Anthony only feels the hand of a lover at his throat, Will is given a very different picture, but no less carnal and obscene. Hannibal climbs onto the bed with them, mattress giving way to his weight as he fits in behind Anthony. Hannibal’s upper lip lifts in the slightest hint of a sneer, sharp canines revealed as he flashes a full, murderously dark stare down at his would-have-been lover. His head tips just enough to say: _These are your hands, not mine now, Will. What will you have them do?_

From over the bow of Anthony’s shoulder, Will’s eyes shine with a new level of intensity. His gaze is only torn away when his attention is drawn to the place where Hannibal’s fingers wrap elegantly around Anthony’s throat - a daring image that brings one of Will’s brows to arch, his heart hammering in his ears.

“Mm, just like this, with you behind me. And Will,” Anthony lifts up enough to pant into Will’s mouth, “I want to feel you. I know you want it too. You’re like me - you always want it.”

The poet’s wet fingers dip to glance over Will’s hole, but nothing more. It’s still enough to send a jolt through Will’s body, from the top of his head, all the way to his toes, eliciting a sharp inhale.

“Indeed, Will _always_ does. Such greedy boys, the two of you.” Hannibal croons soft and deadly over Anthony’s shoulder as his hands tighten that much further over the poet’s throat, drawing forth wanton, but husked-out moans.

And suddenly, Will’s mind is filled with the image of those hands tightening even further. Tightening too much. Enough to bruise Anthony’s skin and to collapse his throat, sending a flood of carmine blood into his lungs that fills them like heaving, gory water balloons. Will wonders what it might feel like to have Anthony’s legs kick out between the spread of his own, muscles spasming and body going taut. He wonders how long Anthony’s cock might stay hard after he’s taken his final breath, if he were to be buried inside of Will during it.

The thought brings forth its own dark swell of satisfaction, Will’s jealousy getting the best of him. Jealousy for Anthony ever having kissed Hannibal at all. And jealousy for the way Anthony wants Hannibal now, behind him - fucking him.

Yet, it’s over just as quickly. Shame takes its place as Will tucks those thoughts back into the darkest corners of his mind, choking out a snarl as one hand flies up to grip at the headboard, white-knuckled. His gaze falls further off to the side, kept momentarily away from Hannibal’s, out of fear he may be able to see what lurks behind it.

And then, with the hand not anchored to the headboard, Will run his own tongue over his palm and then knocks Anthony’s away from where he grips each of their cocks, replacing the hold with his own. Will strokes them both in quick succession, angling his face in again to breathe hot against Anthony’s temple. Curious and yet, still burning away in his own brand of jealousy.

“I _always_ want it,” Will agrees, the words trailing off into a breathy groan against the shell of Anthony’s ear. “I can’t help it. But you know how it is. You understand.”

“Oh— I do. I do!” Anthony hisses as his hips jerk forward and thrust into Will’s skilled fingers.

Anthony’s hands busy themselves, cupping under Will’s thighs to lift and spread them with ease. Fingers drift over the tender skin of Will’s balls, before dipping to press and circle over his rim - prodding, testing. Will groans and hisses for it all at the same time. Wanting and yet, drowning in his unease, given how vividly he can sense tension pouring from Hannibal in this very moment.

Anthony turns his face just enough to speak in lust-riddled pants against Will’s neck. “So sweet and tight, Will. I need— My God, I need to be inside you.”  

But before he can make his move, Hannibal cuts Anthony short with a move of his own.

Hannibal sees all. He is a shark circling its kill when it comes to darkness either given, or received. No matter how Will may turn his eyes away, Hannibal can still scent the want for blood in the waters that flow between them.

Gaze unwavering as it pins Will down, one of Hannibal’s hands closes completely around the front of Anthony’s throat and starts to squeeze. The broad span of his other hand runs to cup over the side of Anthony’s face, mapping the contours of the fine bones underneath smooth skin as he maneuvers the poet’s head slightly to one side and then the other, as if threatening to snap his neck at any moment. It’s an action that Anthony takes as a simple display of control, but Hannibal and Will both know better.

Hannibal is curious as to what effect such silent menaces might have on Will and his current state of… arousal. It’s clear enough that it does _something_.

Will’s catches every motion, even in his peripherals, teeth worrying into his own bottom lip. He can’t be sure why it affects him the way that it does to see Hannibal looming above Anthony, fingers tightening over his throat, but Will tries not to think about it too much. Regardless, he can’t help the way his hips buck upward, the motion causing Anthony to brush back against Hannibal’s crotch.

Hannibal presses his lips to Anthony’s cheek while smearing his hand across the poet’s lips to capture the sound of his panted whines. Once he’s satisfied with the pitch Anthony’s voice takes, Hannibal cradles the poet’s cheek in outspread fingers and drags his face around to capture him in a domineering kiss. It’s a kiss that bites and bruises with just as much passion as had ever been offered to Will.

Hannibal had never been accused of being anything less than a generous lover, and Will had _wanted_ this, after all. With Anthony’s lip caught between his teeth, Hannibal’s hand drops to snap open his own belt, unzipping his trousers and pushing them down far enough to free his erection, brushing the tip over the cleft of Anthony’s backside.

Will watches all of it, unable to see the place where Hannibal has freed himself from the confines of his pants to slot against Anthony’s ass, but Will doesn’t need to see to recognize the tell-tale sound of zipper and the way both of them just-barely adjust position above him. And the kiss they share— it’s one that stirs forth a jealousy much worse than what Will had felt upon seeing the two of them kiss outside the cafeteria.

“Tell him again how he understands, Will. Tell him _what_ he understands.” Hannibal makes his move. He presses his thumb against Anthony’s pulsing carotid and bears down to grind against his ass, a still-clothed but clearly muscular arm circling around the poet’s lean waist.

“I… I don’t—” Will trails off in thought, his pink tongue making a brief appearance in the effort to wet his own lips. He swallows dry as he struggles with himself, caught somewhere between awe and frustration.

He is suddenly overwhelmed with the fact that he doesn’t want Hannibal to fuck Anthony. Not even with Will’s involvement - tucked beneath them and able to participate in some distant sort of way. It’s not in the way he truly wants.

Below, where the warmth of his palm envelopes the thickness of both himself and the boy above him, Will’s hand stills for a brief pause, his rhythm skipping. It’s only when Anthony gives a small sound in protest, does Will notice he’d ever stopped at all, shaking free from the haze and putting his hand into motion once again. It’s confusing, trying to sort through how good it is, physically, and how on edge Will feels in knowing which direction things could go.

“The need,” Will begins again, and his top lip draws up again in the barest hint of another snarl, hips lifting to meet each stroke that he passes over himself and Anthony. It’s good, but Will finds himself focused entirely on keeping his temper under control instead. “And how hard it is to control it— show sharp it feels in the pit of your stomach when you can’t have what you know will satisfy it.”

With his brows furrowed and lips parted on huffed breath, Will takes another kiss from Anthony, eyes staring past and locked only onto Hannibal, before the kiss breaks.

Anthony falters and forgets all about Will as arousal spikes. Hannibal’s hands move him as though he were the most precious thing in the world. They move him as though he were a carnal grace to be devoured, or poetry itself personified. When Hannibal’s cock slips between his cheeks, Anthony coughs a relieved groan past the grip of the hand at his throat.

“Oh my, you’re so… you’re huge. Want to try taking all of you.” He sways his ass back against Hannibal, even as his head starts to spin.  

Yes, things have certainly taken a turn against Will, it would seem - or, at least, against his better interests. Usually, Will can predict things with a relative ease. People are predictable.

Not Hannibal.

Will hates that and loves it all at once.

Anthony sways his hips back against Hannibal, drawing further away from Will’s grip in the process. It’s clear that Anthony is no longer focused on the friction between the two of them, but rather, wholly focused on getting Hannibal inside of him. Finally, Will protests. Softly, no matter the fires of anger that lie between them. Subtly, if only to keep silent words to himself and Hannibal only.

“ _Hannibal._ ” Will says the name like the formation of it on his tongue burns his throat.

He reaches a hand over and past the bow of Anthony’s shoulder, whose bare chest stays pressed against Will’s. Grasping with an apologetic sort of desperation, Will combs his fingers comb into Hannibal’s hair, cradling the back of his head in the attempt to draw him near - to change their current positioning - anything. Rather than moving, however, Hannibal leans his head softly into Will’s palm, nuzzling into the sad little touches of needy fingers.

“Will.” He soothes with a voice as warm and smooth as freshly poured caramel, but he does not move from where he slowly ruts against the turn of Anthony’s backside.

Hannibal could fuck Anthony out of spite and rightful vengeance. He could drink from the well of pleasure Will himself has laid out before the him. The damage Will has inflicted on the connection between Hannibal and himself could almost be classed as pure annihilation. Almost. And the crack within the marble of Hannibal’s breast could almost be classed the same. Almost. As such, Hannibal’s desire to use Anthony like the useless meat-pawn he is nearly overwhelms him.

Nearly.

Hannibal truly believes Will worthy of any punishment granted to him at this point for welcoming Anthony’s kiss, his touch, and for letting Anthony strip, stroke, and tease him— as if Will didn’t already belong to someone.

As if he hadn’t already promised his pleasure to Hannibal, alone.

But Hannibal can also see that Will recognizes he had played a very dangerous game and lost spectacularly. Now, he urgently seeks out mercy. The thought fills Hannibal with an immeasurable rush of power, but also with a warmth unlike any he’s known before.

Hannibal takes a short step away with his knees against the sheets, drawing out of Will’s touch and earning a small whine in protest. He releases Anthony’s carotid artery just as his other hand delivers a quick, hard slap over the poet’s ass, jolting the two young things together. The sudden rush in sensation is, as Hannibal had predicted, enough to send Anthony tumbling into the heady spin of an orgasm that paints Will’s chest in white streaks, sounds of shocked bliss filling the room in the process.

A small concession, all things considered.

Brows lifted and lips parted in his disbelief for Anthony’s sudden spill into climax, Will trembles out a delighted exhale, watching as Anthony attempts to gather himself, coming down from his high.

It is enough of a distraction that Hannibal has time to right his pants, slipping his own hardness back into hiding behind the zipper, before shifting to slide onto the bed beside Will. Hannibal cards a careful hand through his messy, dark curls.

“My wretched, greedy, horrible boy.” Hannibal murmurs, leaning in to mouth each word over Will’s lips - something that Will welcomes eagerly, turning his face into it. “Tell me again, who does it belong to?”

Hannibal’s other hand starts to ghost a barely-there touch over all the places Anthony had previously kissed and abused. Will squirms, every ghost of fingertips raising goosebumps in their wake.

“You,” His eyes flit open to catch Hannibal’s within their close proximity.

Ever-insatiable, once Anthony catches his breath, he wastes no time in climbing over Will and using his own, cum-stained palm to stroke quick, wet slides over the empath’s shaft. The warm, slick glide of his touch sends Will’s eyes rolling back into his head on a moan, the sound rising from his throat and riding out past his tongue, tumbling into Hannibal’s mouth, where they meet on a kiss.

Will draws his knees up, bending his legs, but keeps them spread to let Anthony occupy the space between. Will bucks his hips upward once, while trailing open-mouthed kisses across Hannibal’s jaw, teeth nipping softly along the way.

“Yours… all of it. I want you to have it,” Will insists, his voice a needy, aching thing when he says it. It’s a repeated declaration - his pleasure given to Hannibal to do with as he wants. “ _Please_.”

Will hopes Hannibal might do something with it. And wonders if he might have Hannibal’s in return, just as exclusively.

His breath catching when Anthony’s slippery grasp tugs his cock on an upstroke, Will reaches over with one hand and angles his torso from where he lies to better run his palm down Hannibal’s chest. Will’s touch continues its travel downward, before slipping without hesitation into the front of Hannibal’s pants to wrap warm fingers around the thickness of his cock.

Touching Hannibal, intimately and in this new way, brings Will more pleasure than any physical stimulation Anthony could ever give him, as appreciated as it might be.

A moan, low and hungry, rumbles at the very base of Will’s throat, as he gives Hannibal’s erection an experimental stroke. He’s uncut. Thick. Long. Everything Will could have possibly conjured up in any fantasy, and he hasn’t even seen him yet. For now, touch is enough.

From between his legs, Anthony presses a kiss to one of Will’s knees as the hand not attempting to stroke him off dips to cup his balls. It causes Will’s grip to give a sudden squeeze over Hannibal’s cock, muscles clenching. With a hand on Hannibal’s bare skin, drinking in the very experience of him, Will finds he could easily cum this way, but knows deep down that his climax would be something to wait on Hannibal’s permission for. Something belonging to him. Something that Will doesn’t want belonging to anyone else.

“ _Hannibal_ —” Brows knit, hips canting up towards Anthony’s hand, Will breathes out the wanton sound of Hannibal’s name while stroking him under his pants. Wanting nothing more than to see Hannibal just as bare as himself and Anthony, Will slips his free hand over to toy with the hem of Hannibal’s pants. “I want to see you.”

Hannibal’s lets his eyes drift closed as Will explores the length of his erection with curious, nimble fingers. Where Hannibal holds onto Will’s shoulder, his hand closes tight, bruising his pale boy’s skin, as he struggles to maintain a sense of composure. Sucking over his teeth and gritting his jaw, Hannibal’s eyes flash open, golden amber now hooded and dark, shadowed with the promise of blood.

A grim line is drawn over Hannibal’s lips, pressed thin. His fingers wind themselves around Will’s wrist, before shifting the empath’s hand away from his trousers in a silent ‘no’.

It’s a rejection that Will returns with a silent protest of his own. Brows drawn and a hopeless level of desperation written clear across his features, his eyes remain locked onto Hannibal’s, pleading that he not stop Will from touching him. It’s a plea that goes unheeded.  
  
Although his actions are firm and smooth, Hannibal’s internal battle is raw and hot. Hannibal fights the desire to brush Anthony aside, to see what he looks like when his temple is caved in against a wall and his corpse is left to crumple in a pile on the floor. All for simply looking at Will - let alone touching, kissing, cumming on what is clearly Hannibal’s. Anthony is living on borrowed time now. Hannibal’s time. It is a delicate thread that would be cut, torn, and shredded. Hannibal is sure of it.

The urge to kill grows stronger every day, much like a small seed bursting to bloom deep within the recesses of Hannibal’s mind. So far, he has resisted the urge, but now, as he watches Anthony move over _his_ lover with hands, lips, tongue and teeth, a seething rage explodes within Hannibal’s veins.

But still, his cool, stoic mask remains kept in place.

Torn from his thoughts, Hannibal’s attention returns to Will: _his_ naked, needy, squirming boy. Hannibal’s every instinct is to throw him down onto his front and snag a rough hand in his hair to hold him there, half-suffocating him in the now-messy pile of sheets while taking him with just as much brutal force, if not more, as he wishes to turn on Anthony in this moment. Hannibal can’t help it, a murderous lust has taken hold.

Hannibal would leave Will broken, bruised, and bleeding - marked in _every_ way to remind him of just who he belonged to and why. Will would be left with streaks of Hannibal’s cum painted down his back and orders never to wash himself clean again.

But Hannibal doesn't say a word. He doesn’t act. He doesn’t do more than keep himself present in context, but absent from action. He would let Will decide whether he wanted to share his pleasure with someone who isn’t Hannibal. Hannibal lets this moment either prove or disprove how well Will knows him. How much he truly _sees_ of Hannibal. How much he wants him. Just him.

Will can sense it. He isn’t delusional enough to think Hannibal is the type to share his lovers. Even now, it still stands that Will’s pleasure belongs to Hannibal. Even when others are present. Even when hurt and jealousy had caused him to previously act irrationally.

It still doesn’t stop the way the coil in his belly tightens, the tension becoming nearly unbearable in his effort not to orgasm after so much stimulation. The muscles of Will’s stomach shudder as his breath catches on a silent moan. He digs his heels into the sheets where his legs stay spread on either side of Anthony, who gives his cock a tight squeeze in answer.

Coaxing. _Daring_.

Hips have a mind all their own now, rutting into the warm, wet grip as half-lidded blue eyes seek out Anthony’s

“Oh, God. I’m close,” Will gasps. Even though he lowers a hand to loop fingers over Anthony’s forearm, the warning isn’t meant for him.

Will is aware that reaching his completion by any other hand but Hannibal’s may cause more problems to arise, but he also isn’t sure if he’d be able to stop everything and simply return to his room, alone and without any form of release. So, he tries one more time, jaw craning to send Hannibal a look of desperation, just as his fingers stumble in their hold over Anthony’s arm.

“Hannibal - will you touch me?” The ‘ _please_ ’ that follows this time is silent, but obvious enough in his expression and in the lilted, broken tone of his voice.

Hannibal is well-aware that Will is far beyond the point of no return. Or, more correctly, that Will has placed himself at the point of no return. At any time he could have closed his legs and pushed Anthony away, extinguishing that line of heat running between them. But no, his greedy boy has remained just that: greedy.

His seduction is smooth, calculated, but also, maddeningly desperate.

The slim lines of Will’s quivering frame and the impossibly soft sheen of his flesh is close to irresistible, especially coupled with such delicious begging.

And Will knows this. Just as well as Anthony knows this. The young poet is unable to stay away from the perfect ode to lust that is Will’s writhing form. He has written his name in smeared streaks of his cum all over the gentle curve of _Hannibal’s_ boy’s abdomen.

Hannibal’s gaze drifts down slowly over Will’s body, taking in the image of his hard, swollen, pink cock, dripping with cum - and Anthony’s hand wrapped around it. A flare of jealousy ignites in Hannibal’s chest, heart smacking against his ribs as jaw and throat tighten.  
  
Hannibal eventually turns back to Will, specifically to the plush, wet curve of his ripe, pink mouth as it hangs open in wanton repose. He twists his torso to lean over Will, blocking out any view of Anthony. Reaching up to brush messed, sweaty curls away from Will’s face, Hannibal’s actions are weighed heavy with remorse for what is to come. For what he knows is coming.

Hannibal lowers himself over Will, dipping for a kiss, just as Anthony’s stroking fist slows to squeeze around the base as he too lowers his head, taking the head of Will’s cock into his mouth.

Two simple kisses, each set on disaster.

And for a moment, with Hannibal hovering over him, Will thinks he might have won. That, soon enough - before Will actually plateaus - perhaps Hannibal might cave in and give him the touch that he so desires.

Though he isn’t Hannibal, Anthony is a skilled lover. His lips form a tight ‘O’ as they push down over the length of Will’s arousal. The swollen tip glides over the wet bed of the poet’s tongue, before Anthony draws his head up to swipe a taste over the slit, his fist pumping at speed again. He applies just the right friction to coax the thrust of Will’s hips with every jerk. Will can’t help it, they tilt and squirm into the friction and there’s nothing he can do to stop them, shifting with a mind of their own.

Hannibal’s mouth is twice as skilled. His hooded amber eyes, dull with a distant sadness, stay locked onto Will’s as he tilts his head, pauses, and then closes the final space to press their lips together. He silently mouths, “ _No_ ,” before claiming Will’s answering huff for himself.

Touch? No, Hannibal has decided. He will not now, or ever, be granted the option of sharing his pleasure with another lover. Hannibal wants it all, or nothing at all.  

Will releases a broken, aching sound upon being rejected - something akin to a sob exhaled into Hannibal’s mouth. All of the fire and that which makes Will feral is nowhere to be found now. He wonders if Hannibal would have done it - would have actually fucked Anthony if they had stayed in their original position with the poet wedged between the two of them. If so, Will wonders what makes Anthony so suited for Hannibal’s ‘yes,’ when Will so decidedly gets his ‘no.’

His climax imminent, Will’s expression changes from one of flushed desperation, to a wide-eyed flash of shock and perhaps even fear. Will knows he can’t— he shouldn’t cum by Anthony’s touch, even with Hannibal’s mouth against his own, kissing him through it.

Will wants this. His body wants this. But, ultimately, all he really wants is Hannibal.

Lately, Will has come to find that he doesn’t want anything else nearly as much as he wants Hannibal. And here, the kiss that they share and the look that comes with it only twists the blade of longing even deeper.

But he knows, they both know, while Hannibal tastes the sweet swell of Will’s tongue, Anthony would surely be the one tasting Will’s pleasure tonight. Stealing from the mouth of a _cannibal_ , quite literally, is never a very good idea.

It’s sudden when Will’s hips spasm forward again, feet tangling in the sheets as the warm, wet heat of Anthony’s mouth sucks over his cock and Hannibal’s tongue delves deeper into his mouth to run over each of his teeth. Will only breaks the kiss enough to release a strangled cry in warning, before his hips buck once more away from the mattress and he falls into the uncontrollable waves of his orgasm. It’s ripped from him before he can put a stop to it, pouring down the wet swallow of Anthony’s throat.

Eyelids fluttering and his heart hammering in the prison of his chest, Will’s eyes roll back momentarily, before they refocus and find Hannibal’s, their mouths just-barely brushing.

Will feels no relief now. Instead, he harbors a deep, aching guilt. Shame sets in as he breathes out slow, shaking.

 _Shame_. Will can’t remember the last time he’d felt the emotion so strongly.

He had started this, expecting much different results. And Hannibal? Hannibal has shown that he cannot and will not be manipulated.

Will gives a brief apologetic look to Hannibal just as Anthony pulls off his cock with a final suck, causing him to tremble under the over-stimulation. Squirming free, Will rises up and out of the bed, gathering his clothes and haphazardly throwing them on.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” he mutters without looking back, the second half of the statement meant more for Anthony, while the first meant solely for Hannibal.

With that, Will steps clumsily into his shoes and hurries out the door.


End file.
